


La Blue Girl

by nofox



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drugs, Europe, F/F, Loss of Identity, Mind Control, Morally Ambiguous Character, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 56,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofox/pseuds/nofox
Summary: Widowmaker's sleeper programming has malfunctioned after a successful assassination mission and she now finds herself in Post-Omnic Crisis Amsterdam working at a seedy strip club with no memory of her former identity. After losing track of her for months, Talon has finally discovered her location and deployed Sombra to bring her back in. Despite her efforts, Sombra finds Widowmaker uncompelled by her past identity as an international assassin and so reluctantly goes undercover as a dancer to monitor her while Talon scientists engineer a way to recondition her. When the reformed Overwatch catches wind of the plan, they deploy their own agent to disrupt Sombra with the hope they can restore Widowmaker's original identity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments and I'm not too sure about this one so let me know how you like it.

_Amsterdam, The Aristocrat Lounge_

The violet eyed hacker stepped off the dingy street into the noise and warm air of the strip club. The smell of German beer and pot was caked into the old walls. In the past, during a less decadent era, the building was a rare bookstore and after that an upscale bar. It had become a strip club during the depression following the Omnic Crisis. With the now pacified omnics returning to work, human unemployment hit an all time high. There was, of course, always a demand for fantasies and flesh. She looked on at the main stage past the overpriced bar and seedy private rooms, past the obnoxious American and Australian tourists drunkenly swooning over the performers as they received their lap dances, past the large bouncers stuffed into their cheap suits. A mysterious woman, La Blue Girl was performing. Sombra watched the dancer strut in her expensive classic lingerie, garter belts, stockings and all with a knowing smirk. Her eyes appeared focused and cool as she executed a slow and elaborate pole routine.

With an unusual amount of discipline and coordination for a stripper, the dancer dipped back as she gripped the pole, lifting her leg and wrapping herself around as she somehow acrobatically spun up the metal shaft. Her choreography showed off her uncanny flexibility and strength. Her elegantly developed back and thigh muscles flexed as she hung herself upside down at the very top of the pole. Effortlessly she flipped herself down and stood with her legs crossed in a ballet pose, showing off her appealing albeit unusual body. The dancer was, true to her name, completely blue.

“I can’t believe its her...” Sombra muttered to herself in amusement.

Sombra’s eyes became aroused and transfixed on the dancer as her routine became more sexual. La Blue Girl hugged herself and shrugged her shoulders causing her bra straps to fall over her shapely arms as she strut seductively around the pole. Sombra grinned. A sole question occupied her mind: would the bra come off? The dancer hung off the pole and, with a practiced motion, flicked open her bustier clasp with her free hand. She stood up straight and let the corset fell to her knees revealing her exquisite breasts much to the pleasure of the audience.

The answer, it seemed, was yes.

The hacker blinked then shook her head, it really was _her_ but it wasn’t. She had the same poise and elegance of Amélie for sure.

La Blue Girl nonchalantly sashayed up the stage with a pout as if she were a supermodel while patrons brandished their money at her. Interestingly, she took their Euros in hand and clutched them instead of allowing the patrons to stuff the bills into her panties and garter straps as she continued her routine. Sombra approached the stage to try and buy her attention. Again to her amusement, La Blue Girl took her money indifferently, as if she didn’t know her.

“Oh hell, she’s doing it again,” complained a sharp looking woman standing next to Sombra. She smelt of cigarettes and like her gums had gone bad. “She thinks she’s better than everyone else...”

La Blue Girl finished her routine and strut off stage after a theatrical bow. The woman with the angular features accosted her.

“Amy, you’re too damn cold!” she said reprimanding her, not caring at all that she’d outed her by using her real name. “You’re not making us any money!”

“I’m sorry, I just want to dance,” La Blue Girl replied defensively in a nondescript European accent.

Sombra listened with a curious look as the girl continued apologizing, saying she was out of it and didn’t want to be handled today and so on. Sombra noticed, however, that her accent was different from her colleague and fellow agent Widowmaker. It was part received pronunciation, part American, part Benelux, a mishmosh of borrowed English sounds and styles from US television and movies, the way a savvy European high school student spoke but _not_ how Widowmaker spoke with her lush French accent.

“Amy” stormed off to the changing room. She’d earned herself a few more hours from her manager and was assigned to the “Champagne Room” to make up her quota, no doubt to be groped and fondled by their wealthier patrons for money.

Inside, the dancer fixed her hair and adjusted her makeup next to a row of beautiful drunk sweaty girls doing the same or in one case indulging her cocaine habit. Sombra watched their butts in a row from around a corner, hidden by her cloaking device. One by one the inebriated athletic girls trickled out to continue their hustle until Amy was alone.

Sombra silently let herself in to the sound of Amy quietly sniffing.

“Gotcha,” she said as she uncloaked behind her.

Amy jumped in terror as a threatening looking woman materialized in the mirror in front of her. Immediately she got a bad sense from her. Her long nails were pointed and sharp. Thick flat wires crept up from her back and neck around the side of her half-shaven head. She looked dark and violent to her, accustomed to taking what she wanted.

She turned to face her.

“Who the hell are you?” Amy uttered meekly. There was a slight panic in her voice. With the way things went at the club, she was honestly afraid she would be groped or worse. It didn’t matter that Sombra was a woman.

“You don’t recognize me?” mused Sombra with a chuckle as she stepped closer. The hacker inspected the blue woman’s face. “You know, I’ve never been able to sneak up on you, _amiga…_ Guess you really are different... _”_

“What are you talking about?” Amy cursed.

“You really didn’t smell me or hear me when I sneaked up on you?” asked Sombra, folding her arms and tapping her violet lips in intrigue.

“I thought you were one of the girls.”

Sombra scoffed in amusement. “Huh, so you _did_ know I was there. Interesting...” she replied cryptically.

“What do you want?” Amy asked in resignation, her voice was melancholic. “I have a lot of work ahead of me...”

The hacker chuckled. “Does the name Widowmaker ring a bell?” Amy shook her head. “Really? No? You've never wondered why you’re blue?”

“It’s a condition I’ve had since I was a girl… The doctors said they’ve never seen anything like it. It’s probably genetic.”

“Anything else?”

“They told me to not think about it, that it was pretty, and to have a glass of red wine every night for my circulation.”

“Puh, European doctors,” Sombra mused then was silent as she continued to inspect her. It was bizarre to Sombra, she’d always known Widowmaker to be a bit sad but there was always an empowered and seductive cruelty in her eyes. Amélie was truly different from this girl Amy. She could see it in her eyes, they were softer.

The dancer felt Sombra’s objectifying gaze on her and shook her head impatiently—she was just like all her greedy clients. This woman was wasting her time. “Excuse me, I have to get back to work,” she said trying to push past the mysterious woman.

Sombra held her hand up and rudely pushed it against Amy’s chest, stopping her.

“I bought you for the rest of the evening.” Sombra announced bluntly, her tone was flat though she raised her voice for emphasis. Amy turned her head away resentfully then tried to push past again but was stopped by a sudden pain. She gasped slightly as she felt a slight pressure from Sombra’s sharp nails against her chest. The hacker cocked her head and rudely pushed into her face. “Don’t believe me? You can ask your manager.”

Amy stood frozen as the implications of the financial arrangement struck her. She _really_ did not like this woman. Sombra grinned.

“Come on,” Sombra coaxed as she ran a vicious nail down Amy’s jaw. “You get to hang out with me instead of wiggling your butt against a bunch of drunken Australian boners.”

How on Earth did this woman think she had the right to touch her? The bouncer just outside the door could plainly hear them speaking but did nothing to interfere. This woman must have payed a fortune to have her way with her. Seeing no other choice, Amy conceded.

"Fine."

* * *

Amy stood awkwardly in front of Sombra as she leaned against the wall in one of the club’s seedy private rooms. Sombra scanned the dark bare room and spotted a conspicuous tissue box on the wall. She humphed and nonchalantly elbowed it.

“This get much use?”

“ _Oui_ , _malhereusement_ ,” Amy replied with her arms crossed.

They continued their death-stare at one another before Sombra took off her coat with a chuckle and seated herself on the folding chair in the middle of the small room. To Amy this woman seemed to thrive off of animus. She sat like a man with her legs spread as she leaned back in the chair and beckoned Amy to her.

Amy uncrossed her arms reluctantly and approached her lap. This would be a business only relationship.

Sombra spoke in a cool deliberate tone as she received her lap dance, for once enjoying having the upper hand over her fellow agent.

Widowmaker, the real Widowmaker, was a cruel and formidable Talon agent with nerves like black ice. Despite being a Talon thrall who could never disobey orders, Sombra was her subordinate. There was no way on the planet she would ever let Sombra touch her. However, with her sleeper programming malfunctioning, Sombra found her more docile.

“Here’s the deal, _amiga,”_ said Sombra craning her neck to look at the tall exotic dancer with an infatuated grin, “You can make some extra money from me. You tell me one thing about yourself and I will tell you why its a lie. _Comprende?_ ”

Amy nodded her head in passive agreement as she began her routine in a bored rote manner. She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, this woman seemed to take every opportunity to take advantage of her.

“My dancer name is La Blue Girl, I live in Amsterdam and I work at a strip club,” she said starting with the obvious.

“Wrong, your name is Amélie Lacroix, code name Widowmaker, you live in Annecy and you’re a Talon assassin,” Sombra replied, grabbing her by the hip and slowly inserting 100 Euro into her garter belt with a deliberate motion.

“Huh, how interesting...” Amy replied, clearly nonplussed.

Sombra grabbed her hips and tried to rock the dancer on her pelvis. Amy turned away and danced with her butt towards her when she felt she was getting to grabby.

“I’m 23 years old, my mother is Belgian and my father is an American businessman.”

“Wrong, you’re 33 years old. You’re French not Belgian,” Sombra replied, pulling down Amy's panties to gaze at her fine butt and placing another 100 Euro in the seat. “Your father was a Guillard, descended from a line of French nobles,” she continued as her eyes fixated on her ass.

Amy pulled up her panties with a frustrated tug.

“Oh?” she replied, turning towards the ill-mannered hacker, “I didn’t think there were any left. Don’t you know they killed them all in the revolution?”

“Yes, _mija_ ,” she replied with a deliberate nod, “but not _your_ family.”

“So, I must be quite rich then?”

Again Sombra nodded slowly as she regarded Amy greedily with stimulated eyes. Amy put her arms around Sombra’s neck. She wished she hadn’t since Sombra made her feel so vulnerable but it was part of her routine and wasn’t keen on putting effort into thinking of something else to do.

“Funny, because I’m quite poor. If I was rich I wouldn’t need to dance to save up to attend ballet conservatory,” Amy noted sarcastically as she cocked her head.

Sombra shook her head condescendingly. “Daddy won’t pay for it?” she sneered.

“He left my mother a long time ago and I haven’t talked to my mother in years. I take care of myself.”

“Huh, just like me,” noted Sombra, reaching around and depositing another bill in her panties. “Isn’t 23 a bit old to start a ballet career? Not that it matters. All that’s wrong, _mija_. You were a _Danseuse Étoile_ at the Paris Opera Ballet until you were brainwashed by Talon and transformed into an assassin _,”_ she continued, “but I wouldn’t know anything about that...”

Sombra ran her paws up the exotic dancer’s ribs and torso and she appeared to freeze. She intently felt her taut core muscles before she glided her hands over her supple breasts and squeezed. There was the slightest stimulus of pleasure but it was short circuited, it was almost like Amy wasn't here and she'd felt it from another body. She closed her eyes and sighed but then fluttered them open with a determined look.

“I don’t like this game anymore,” she said darkly. She abruptly lifted herself from Sombra’s lap. Sombra ran her hand down Amy’s flat tummy as she got up to enjoy one last touch. “Who are you anyways?”

“I don’t have a name,” the hacker replied brusquely, “but you can call me Sombra.”

“I’ll notify the bouncers not to let you in again. Goodbye, Sombra,” Amy said coldly as she crossed her arms.

Sombra humphed and stood.

Amy stepped over to Sombra’s unusual coat and handed it to her as she headed to the door. It was heavy with equipment.

“Thanks,” Sombra said flatly, taking it with a rebellious sneer.

She opened the door to exit the private room and saw that a massive bouncer was blocking her way.

“Trouble, Blue?” he asked in a deep baritone. Amy knew this bouncer well. He would look after her even if Sombra did pay off all the staff.

“No. She was just leaving,” Amy replied nonchalantly.

Sombra gave the guard the up and down with a derisive gaze then rudely pushed by, knocking her shoulder against his.

“Weird girl,” noted the bouncer.

“Yeah,” Amy replied distantly as she fixed her hair.

“Almost as weird as you,” he quipped.

Amy pouted and gave him a cold look. “I’m going home, tell the manager.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra gets a job for the first time in her life.

Amy walked huddled in a formless coat along the cobblestone streets to her hole in the wall apartment trying not to look like a prostitute. Tourists regarded her with interest for her blue skin as she passed. She caught men sneaking a second and third look at her as she strut home quickly, her heels clicking against the old stone. She hated her skin and how much attention it brought her.

Briefly, Amy sat on a bench to rest and looked longingly at the Flemish night sky. It did nothing for her, she felt nothing as always. It was as if her only emotions were stress and revulsion, nothing could give her pleasure. She arose with a sigh and continued walking past the various dens of iniquity with their dank clouds of weed floating in the air around them. She detested the smell of pot.

Finally, the off-duty dancer arrived at her apartment. She wasn’t at all physically exhausted, dancing was effortless for her, but she was emotionally tired. The small one room apartment was strange: two ropes hung from the high ceiling in the middle next to a dancing pole, a small bed she hardly ever used sat tucked in the corner, while a kitchenette positioned next to a minuscule bathroom occupied the space directly next to her small hallway entrance. Amy had the sense that if the landlord could have put the toilet against a wall and called it a bathroom like they did with the kitchen, they would have.

She tossed her bag on the bed and shed her coat then changed into the athletic clothes she was far more comfortable in. Amy wanted to practice before going to bed. She climbed the pole and hung off of it at the top with her knee bent as if she were the Hanged Man. As she hung there in a meditative state, by chance, she looked up and saw a spider on her ceiling. Or was it chance? She’d thought she’d heard something: the smallest movement and sound from the otherwise completely stealthy insect. Regardless, in a small feat of atheticism, she flexed her abs and curled herself up to greet him.

“Hello, Monsieur Spider,” she said with a sort of deranged fascination as the creature came into her field of vision. She sighed as she effortlessly held herself in place. “That woman says I’m an assassin but I could hardly hurt a fly, let alone a spider.”

She uncurled and thought to herself. Being up here like this was almost pleasurable. Her senses and awareness of the tiny room seemed to heighten. She could detect everything. And what if someone wanted to come in and kill her or worse? She could detect them from here before they could even see her. She wasn’t like other people, hanging upside down didn’t send a rush of blood to her head, she could stay like this for hours, she could even sleep like this. So much better to stay up here.

Amy banished the unusual thoughts and regarded the tattoo on her forearm with a frown.

_araignée du soir, cauchemar_

She’d gotten it in high-school but the idiot had done it all wrong. A spider in the evening was hope.

* * *

“She has absolutely no idea who she is,” said Sombra pressing on her earpiece. “I did some spying and checked her out. She thinks her name is Amy Cross and she dances at a strip club. You see the similarities, right?”

She stood on an Amsterdam street corner near a row of seedy outfits occupying what were previously proud and distinct buildings of Flemish heritage. A drunk tourist eyed her up as he passed. Sombra whipped her head and locked eyes with him causing him to stumble.

“Fuck off, I’m not a prostitute,” she spat.

“So, some of her programming is intact?”

“Huh? Yeah, Gabe. It’s there but its like someone took out all the class. I’m pretty sure she made up facts about her life to explain her situation. But I dunno, she still acts, _superior_ or something. So, that’s the same,” she explained curtly. “The good news is, Overwatch has no idea she’s here. They’re the only people who know about her existence so her cover isn’t blown.”

Gabriel grumbled on the other side of the line.

“So, what’s the plan, Gabe?”

“Stay close to her and lay low, Talon’s got engineers working on finding a way to restore her memory. When their solution is ready, you’ll administer it and bring her back.”

“That’s hard, Gabe. She doesn’t exactly like me.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, she kicked me out of the strip club she works at,” she said opening her holographic projector and regarding it indifferently. She heard Gabe chortle on the other side of the line and gave a shady sidelong look. To her displeasure she realized that people were staring at her. “What the _fuck_ , Gabe?” she spat turning around and clasping the projection in her hand. “So, what am I doing here?”

“Your mission is to keep her close and keep Overwatch away. Find some cover to allow you to get the job done. I want a status report every day.”

“Gee, this is a little hands-on, Gabe,” Sombra complained.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’re a spy now, a Talon agent, not some Los Muertos thug. Now do it.”

The connection rudely clipped out as Gabriel closed the line.

“Orders, orders. _¡Vete a la mierda!_ ” Sombra cursed to herself.

She sighed and regarded the now decrepit old world street ahead of her. Europe was going to hell, buckling under endless austerity, it’s wealth had finally been drained out of it from the crisis. Soon even Paris and Berlin would look like this if they didn’t already: streets bedecked with prostitutes, topless bars and strip clubs.

With disdain she watched a girl, who in less unfortunate times might have been a supermodel, step into an Audi super car and peel out after a seedy exchange through the window. Prostitution, of course, was legal and regulated in Amsterdam but Sombra couldn’t help but feel it was for the benefit of the rich.

“I hate Europe...” Sombra muttered as she started down the street.

She moodily scanned the old buildings as the bass from the Eurotrash electronic music pounding in the clubs leaked onto the street. Her eyes fell on a sign outside the Aristocrat Lounge: _Dancers wanted._ She glanced at the sign, then the pavement, then back at the sign as she seriously considered the prospect. There was no way out of it, it was the perfect cover.

“Aw, _fuck_ ,” she finally swore aloud, nodding her head into the curse and kicking the pavement. “ _Really?_ ”


	3. Chapter 3

The next night at the club, Amy rolled in with her formless coat and duffel bag in hand to witness the purple girl from the night before talking to her manager. The club’s accounts were in total disarray from her massive transaction that had taken place yesterday. Amy paused, frozen from the prospect that that vile woman had been let back in. Sombra spotted her and finished her conversation. She approached.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Amy asked contemptuously.

“Applying for a job,” Sombra replied, unfazed by her disdain. “And helping with some accounting inconsistencies. Your boss says I’m both a valuable client and employee. That she’ll make me a star,” she said tilting her head as she sarcastically uttered the word ‘star,’ “I start tonight.”

“You? You can dance?”

“Not in the least,” Sombra admitted with a fake smile. “At least, not like you. But somehow I don’t think I have to.”

At that moment a pole dancer in a frilly pink outfit stumbled and broke her heel on stage. The drunken dancer cursed and stormed off in a fit. Sombra let out a humph of amusement as her point was proven.

Amy rolled her eyes.

“Besides, _mija_ ,” she said stepping closer so her voice filled Amy’s ears. Sombra’s sudden closeness startled her. “The more we hang out, the more I can jog your memory. Do you know what I mean?” She stepped closer yet again and Amy suddenly felt incapacitated by her strangely familiar presence. “How did you sleep last night, hmm? Or did you at all?” she asked. Amy’s eyes widened as Sombra’s voice seemed to drown out the repetitive throbbing baseline, she felt almost hypnotized. “Did you make any friends?” In a flash, the image of Monsieur Spider filled her mind’s eye.

She shook her head to try and get the dim light and music from the strip club back into her head.

“I don’t like you,” Amy said curtly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, _mija._ I’ve been told I’m an acquired taste,” Sombra replied. She stepped away with a chuckle. The thumping electronic music again became over-present in her ears as she left. “See you on stage...”

In the changing room, the line of stunning drunk performers had reformed in front of the vast mirror as they prepared themselves for their audiences. Amy powdered her face and did her makeup to hide any purple veins and to hopelessly try, despite being blue, to create the illusion of healthy blood flow in her face.

At that moment, Sombra timidly stepped in to avoid attention but the girls caught sight of her in the mirror. Their heads immediately snapped to her and in a second the loud women were all over her, showering her in attention and affirmation in their various European accents made dusky by their constant drunk-talking over the club's pounding electronic music.

“You’re the new girl? Your skin is amazing!”

“It’s so pretty. Where are you from, Portugal?”

“Heh, try Mexico...”

“Oh my God, how did you get violet eyes?”

“They’re just contacts...”

Sombra winced and grimaced from the attention. Quickly, the vivacious hyper-confident athletic girls became critical of Sombra’s looks, trying to give her advice to earn money and attract admirers.

“You’re so exotic! That haircut is savage. But wear a wig or you’ll scare the straight boys away.”

“Those wires. Can you like take them off?”

“Long nails are cool but they aren’t very good for working the pole...”

“That makeup, it might be too much. You don’t want to look like you were punched in the face.”

“ _Aie yaie yaie, callate!”_ shouted Sombra, throwing her hands down. “I think I know how to look to screw a guy out of their money. I mean, how hard can it be? I can do it _without_ taking my clothes off. You know, with my _brain?_ ”

The girls exchanged apprehensive glances at the derogatory comment. Amy cracked the smallest smile as she minded her makeup.

“This is a tough job, sweetie. We want you to do well...” said a blonde dutch girl in a frilly pink bustier.

“She’s paying to play,” announced Amy, finishing her makeup and turning to face Sombra. “I’ve seen her type before, she’ll crack once she realizes how hard it is. That its not so glamorous.” She’d made her accusation with a certain characteristic viciousness Sombra recognized as Widowmaker's but she seemed unhinged.

The girls looked down in mild disappointment with Sombra, one of them tutted with a resigned, “oh la la.” Sombra squinted incredulously at the woman she knew was Widowmaker as the gears span in her head. She was so wildly off the mark. Her brain really _was_ broken. Sombra cleared her throat and tried to adopt an air of honesty.

“Um, I’m not paying to play. It’s not true. I seriously need this job...” she said with a wince as she scratched the back of her head. “Yesterday I bought out the bar and all that time with La Blue Girl to, you know, make a splash. But it’s not _my_ money… and its not _real_ money...”

The girls looked on at Sombra with sparkling eyes, trying to be supportive. Sombra suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmingly gay as the gaggle of hot European strippers regarded her expectantly.

“I’m, uh, fake. I’m not rich. I’m a hacker…” she continued reluctantly then blew a strand of hair out of her eye, “I was an orphan. I’ve done it since I was a kid, you know, to survive. But I’m trying to go straight with this job. I’m sorry, Blue. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

The girls again exchanged quick glances to gauge their feelings before collectively exclaiming, “Awww,” and clutching their chests. They resumed huddling around Sombra, basking her in attention.

“So, what’s your name?” asked a fit red headed girl with a Welsh accent.

“You can call me Sombra. I’ve never known my real name,” she admitted.

“Ah, so you already had a stripper name. This job is perfect for you,” the Welsh girl prodded. The girls had a little laugh at Sombra’s expense. “Sorry about that, I just had to. My name’s Scarlet.”

Sombra awkwardly caught the girl's body language and realized she was going in for a hug. They made a friendly embrace but, to Sombra's surprise, the beautiful girl leaned in and made a kissing sound near her ear. It was a common gesture in Mexico but Sombra had never had any friends.

One of the strippers—a dirty blonde with a round face—extended her hand at Sombra. “You must be _so_ smart to be a hacker, I just don’t like _get_ computers,” she said in her thick Norwegian accent. “My name is Skye, you’ll be my best friend if you can fix my computer. I think its empty or something.”

Sombra clasped it apprehensively and tried not to rationalize what she meant by that as the girl kissed the air near her cheek. Another girl, a stunning raven haired woman extended hers. “I’m Mercedes, from Madrid. I thought you might of been Portuguese because you’re like darker...” she fumbled in her somewhat stilted English. “Oh well, we can speak Spanish sometime, yeah?”

“Sure, yeah,” said Sombra, forcing herself not to roll her eyes out of her butt as she clasped her hand.

The dark beauty leaned in and kissed Sombra directly on the cheek causing her to turn slightly red. After the girls had one by one introduced themselves to their new co-worker and competition with hugs and cheek kisses throwing Sombra into a fluster, their obnoxious manager poked her head in and alerted them that they were opening in 5 minutes. The dancers finished their makeup and piled out leaving Sombra and Amy alone together.

“You don’t fool me,” spat Amy.

“Strippers, they love a good redemption story,” scoffed Sombra, stepping to the mirror to regard her heavy makeup. “But, believe it or not, _mija_ , that story is almost entirely true.”

“You’re like a man in a woman’s body,” Amy said disdainfully. “You lie and cheat to get what you want. You have no problem manipulating women.”

Amy knew from the treatment she got from Sombra yesterday that having her here was like having a fox in a hen house. Sombra was a predator, as bad as any overly entitled client.

Sombra cocked her head. “I honestly take that as a complement,” she said flatly. Amy lowered her head to make her way out of the room and avoid eye contact with Sombra but she gripped her arm and stopped her. “Look, Amélie, don’t you realize this is a game for me?” Sombra laughed. “We can speed this up if you _snap out of it_. We’re both Talon agents. Your body’s been engineered so you’re the perfect assassin. That’s why you barely need to eat or sleep. You speak 12 languages. You can kill a man in 20 different ways,” she explained rapidly, glaring into Amy’s confused eyes. “Just turn off your sleeper programming.”

Amy stared back at her with a contemptuous pout.

“You’re insane. I’m a normal girl with a skin disease that people don’t happen to think is revolting so I can dance to make end’s meet. You might be a hacker who can do whatever she wants but my life is bills and work,” she replied bitterly.

“But you like dancing, don’t you?” said Sombra maintaining her grip. “Amélie, you don’t have to do this to dance...”

“That’s _not_ my name,” Amy said dramatically, wresting her arm from Sombra’s grip. "And you _don't_ know me."

She stormed past her holding her hand up to her face so Sombra couldn’t look at her.

“Gah!” Sombra cursed, gripping the air and letting out a long stream of Spanish curses. The longer it took to turn Amélie the more field reports she’d have to file, the longer she’d have to do this sleazy job she didn’t want to do. Finally, she calmed herself and regarded the well-worn changing room. “So, I’m exotic, huh?” she said aloud, “that’s _great_.”

“New girl,” called the manager. “Get dressed already and come with me...”


	4. Chapter 4

“I thought you said you could take the augmentations off,” said the manager skeptically as she regarded Sombra.

Sombra shrugged at her moodily. The manager blinked and brushed it off, hoping to not immediately start problems with her new employee.

“So, we run a pretty tight ship here,” she said as they walked down the long hallway from the changing room to the bar. The tall angular woman had what at one point was probably a very attractive body, now, however, it was deprived of healthy fat as her skin started to sag with age. “If everyone works hard, we all make money. I used to be a stripper so I know how the business works...” she explained officiously. “I’m gay so I was successful, no fantasies of some foreign businessman taking me away from this life, no getting involved with clients, no hating them for being men either. I’m strictly business.”

Sombra nodded in admission that this woman probably wasn’t full of shit.

“But that means we got rules. If you start fights with other girls, you’re fired. If you don’t pay your bar tab, you’re fired. If you piss off a customer, you’re fired. If you come in looking like shit, you’re fired. If you’re on too many drugs, you’re fired...”

The woman rattled on a long rambling list of rules and prohibitions all ending in “you’re fired.” Sombra grit her teeth harder and harder on each iteration until she finally snapped at “If I see cellulite on your legs.”

She thrust her hand against the woman’s neck, pinning her to the wall. Her surgically sharpened nails carved into the cheap wall.

“Look,” Sombra stated as the woman struggled, “I don’t think you know our arrangement. I am a _very_ dangerous woman. In Mexico, I used to rob and extort strip clubs with my gang for _fun_. I’ve murdered strip club owners because they looked at me the wrong way and I used to fuck strippers in the bathroom for free while hopeless losers shelled out hundreds of US dollars for a lap dance. Do you understand me?”

“I-I-I,” the woman stuttered as she struggled against Sombra’s grip.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” said Sombra cruelly, watching the woman’s eyes roll around in her head. “I’m trying to tell you something. You will _never_ tell me how to look. You will _never_ tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m not some stripperella with low self-esteem. If you try to gaslight me, _I will fucking kill you._ ”

The manager’s eyes crawled around the room desperately trying to meet with one of her bouncer’s. As she tried to make eye contact they turned their eyes away and folded their hands. Sombra had already paid them off. The girls, meanwhile, were hopelessly occupied chasing their clients, no help there. Her eyes fearfully turned back to Sombra’s. Now she was starting to understand.

Sombra let go.

“So, tell me more about this nice place,” she said sweetly.

The manager brushed herself off and regained her composure with surprising resiliency. With dark despair, however, she realized she’d let an evil person into her business and there was nothing she could do. She simply hoped that Sombra would pass like a rain cloud after she got what she wanted and that she wouldn’t take anything away.

“Yeah, um, you met the girls, let me introduce you to the DJ...”

They awkwardly approached a gangly eastern European fellow in a tacky over-dyed graphic T-shirt. He stood manning an elaborate DJ booth, bobbing his head as he held his headphones to one ear. He was completely oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place.

The manager cleared her throat and rubbed her neck to try and alleviate the pain from Sombra's grip. “Rosco,” she shouted.

“Yeah, boss?” the gentlemen DJ replied in a nerdy Eastern European accent.

“Meet the new girl.”

“Oh!” he said taking his headphones down and bumbling with his control panel, “she’s a very pretty, boss.”

“He does the lights and music. The rule is, if you date the DJ, you’ll want to be fired.”

Sombra humphed in mild amusement at the savvy businesswoman’s rebelliousness.

“So, you play any Lucio?” Sombra asked skeptically.

“Who dat, boss?”

 

* * *

 

_Watchpoint Gibraltar, New Overwatch HQ_

“A strip club? You can't be serious..." exclaimed Jack holding his palms up in disbelief. "Amelie is a real dancer. What in the name of baby Jesus is she doing _there_?"

The members of the reformed Overwatch regarded Jack and Winston apprehensively from their seats around the watchpoint's circular conference table. They'd come to dread these meetings. They were illegal and risky. Only the most dire crisis or personal issues warranted their reformation.

Winston cleared his throat before speaking. "It appears she's somehow had her memory erased again. We picked up this Talon communique, it's still heavily encrypted but you can hear."

He played the soundbite on the Athena console.

"She thinks her name is Amy Cross and she dances at a strip club. You see the similarities, right?” came a distorted voice through Athena's speakers.

"We also have footage from CCTV of a woman projecting a hologram with her hand near where we picked up the transmission," Winston noted.

"There's only one Talon agent with those capabilities," said Jack ominously, "I think we all know who that is..."

Pharah and Ana shifted uncomfortably. Tracer involuntarily swallowed as Jack tucked in his shirt. Sombra had at one point or another put all of them through the ringer.

"Well, what's it mean, luv?" asked Tracer.

"It means Talon is already in contact with her but there's been no further communications in the last 24 hours," said Winston. "Flyovers and CCTV show that Amelie is still attending her job as a—," he paused with a belabored sigh, "— _stripper_. So we don't know the situation."

"Well, Winston, luv. It's obvious! We've got to go get her. To bring her in!"

"It's more complicated than that," Winston interjected.

"Oh, bloody hell," muttered Lena, crossing her arms with a pout.

"If Gabriel's henchmen is there, it's certain he's not far behind. Not to mention that Amelie's identity is volatile. Right now she thinks she's a dancer but just as easily she could snap back into an assassin. A brainwashed assassin with no orders and no identity is still quite a potential threat."

"However, this presents a certain opportunity..." noted Dr. Ziegler in her crisp Swiss-German accent. "If we can convince her to come with us, we can reverse her programming."

"So, what's the plan, Jack?" asked Ana folding her arms.

Jack thought to himself from behind his tactical visor before pounding the table decisively with his fist. "We've got to send someone in, the opportunity is too great. Dr. Ziegler, can you fix her?"

"Well, it's impossible to know unless we have someway to communicate with her. But we must not trigger a relapse into her identity as Widowmaker. Perhaps there is a way to make her remember? If we show her a friend or former colleague?"

The agents shifted. Who should they send? Would she see them as a friend, a stranger? Would it reactivate her identity as Widowmaker or Amelie?

"Indeed, but recall that her programming turned us into her mortal enemies. Such an encounter seems risky," observed Winston. "We should provide adequate cover for whoever went in to keep them in close contact," Dr. Ziegler added.

"So, what are you saying? We send someone to the club and try and get her to snap out of it?" asked Jack incredulously. "I'm not going, those days are over."

Mercy scoffed at her ex-husband. "Perhaps a patron is not the best cover. A dancer perhaps?" she offered.

"But which one of us would go?" asked Pharah nervously. "I hardly think my mother would approve—"

"There's no shame in dancing, dear," said Ana quite unexpectedly, "If you were to go."

Pharah slowly turned her head towards her mother with a highly distraught expression. Suddenly, however, she felt her hair stand on end when she realized the agents were inspecting her body to see if it was stripper worthy. She turned her head back to the group. Their respective glances awkwardly scattered.

"Sure, but Pharah is a little, you know..." started Tracer before realizing she wanted to put a shoe in her mouth, "um, your arms, luv."

"What on Earth are you saying? My daughter is beautiful!" Ana snapped.

"Mother, please..."

"Tracer..?" Mercy offered somewhat ominously.

The agent's eyes turned to Tracer. She felt their collective gazes turn objectifying as they regarded her body. Her eyes flitted from left to right before she began to laugh nervously. It was almost like they were tickling her with their thoughts.

"W-w-wh—HA HA, me? A _stripper_? That's rich, luvs. Why not Dr. Ziegler? She's got a body men can understand," she said gesturing to the prim blonde doctor.

The agents rotated their collective gazes to Dr. Ziegler. She crossed her arms with a pout, saying nothing. Finally, after a long awkward pause, she spoke. "I'm a respectable professional, I'm director general of the WHO, I could very well become secretary general of the UN, you will _never_ find me pole dancing for money."

"It's alright, not everyone is cut out for the job," noted Ana, "you've got to be in impeccable shape to do it."

Mercy uncrossed her arms and regarded Pharah's mother with questioning scorn. Was she being saucy?

"Are you saying I can't do the job? I work quite hard to maintain my physique," she asserted defensively.

"The doctor is a bit old to be a stripper," noted Jack with a chin scratch.

"Excuse me, Mr. Morrison," replied Mercy, gritting her teeth, "would you like to die?"

"So, you'll do it then?" he asked in return.

The doctor’s eyes burned with rage but she remained silent.

"I still say my daughter is the best candidate."

"I don't want to, mother!" Pharah protested.

"You'll do fine, dear."

Pharah simply dug herself into her seat from embarrassment, gripping the chair arms uncomfortably. Mercy half-frowned as she looked at Pharah's well-developed arms and shoulders in her tight black tank top. Tracer was perhaps wrong, but there was a whole other dimension to stripping. There was the hustle. Mercy in her heart of hearts knew that Pharah was an unseductive meathead and Tracer was simply too gay and nerdy to be a stripper—though, there was certainly a type of man who could go for that.

The men of Overwatch exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to be supportive in the deafening silence.

"Ugh, idiots," muttered Mercy, watching them flounder.

"Remember that whoever goes will have the whole team behind them," offered Winston. "With our collective brainpower we can help whoever goes maintain their cover."

"If that's the case, luv. Why don't we all go? Us women, I mean. It's not just the job, it's downright dangerous. Talon is already in there with their best sociopaths."

"I don't like this at all," whined Pharah.

"Hush, dear. I'll go with you."

Pharah's eye twitched at the uncomfortable prospect of her mother doting on her as she tried her hand at exotic dancing.

The doctor witnessed the exchange and cleared her throat. "As uncomfortable as this seems, it is the most optimal arrangement," she admitted.

Jack traded quick glances of approval with Ana and Winston. They nodded solemnly. "It's settled then, lets move out."

 

* * *

 

_Back at the Aristocrat Lounge…_

"What is this, it's just a 4/4 beat with synth garbage over it," noted Sombra as she listened to the DJ's mix.

"Yeah, is autism," replied Rosco. He'd pronounced it "out-ism."

"What? No, that's bad," stated Sombra as she struggled to wrap her head around what he meant.

"No, autism good for business, makes girls dance, makes guys want to spend money," Rosco said minding the knobs on his DJ panel as he bobbed his head. "4/4 beat is maximum autism."

Sombra turned to the manager in disbelief.

"Evidently, he speaks his native language beautifully," noted the manager with a shrug, "he's published a widely translated book on music theory. But he still can't take a shower."

"Showers cause stress because of overstimulation of skin, not good for autism... Music, I find, chills out autism. This is why I for make bathing to old Benni Benassi album circa 2001. Vintage electronic autism."

It was just his way, apparently. Sombra turned back to the idiosyncratic DJ.

"I can't dance to this..." she asserted disdainfully. "Here, try this song."

She gave Rosco the name of a Mexican pop song and he loaded it up.

"Ah, yis, I know this," he said shaking his finger with a knowing nod. "This is Latin autism."

" _Excuse me?_ " Sombra asked, sounding utterly offended.

"Yis, every culture has autism music. In Unoted State is EDM, on continent is electro polka. Japan also has own form of autism. This is clear case of Latin autism, so I play this for you when dance. Autism, yes," he explained then gave a thumbs up.

"He's some kind of genius..." muttered Sombra.

“Don’t let yourself be too impressed with him,” interrupted the manager, “he’s a dog that causes quite a bit of trouble with the ladies.”

“Huh?” replied Sombra, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “ _him?_ ”

“DJ job is very attractive to naked dancer ladies,” Rosco asserted, “and though I have small penis, I have mastered ultimate autistic sexual technique. Is very good.”

“I don’t think you know what the word ‘autism’ means, _amigo._ ”

“Hah, little laugh. You are very funny, brown lady," he replied.

Sombra’s eye twitched as she felt herself fume. She wanted to take the skinny fake Borat's head off.

“Sombra,” the manager interrupted when she saw her about to lift her hand to the DJ’s throat, “take the stage, we’re not that busy so lets see what you’ve got.”

“Right...” Sombra muttered darkly.


	5. Chapter 5

As Sombra took the main stage in her expensive lingerie, the patron's eyes widened as they witnessed a bizarre transformation.

"Whoa, spooky," one of the girls muttered, catching sight of Sombra.

"What? What's everyone looking at?" asked Sombra sounding uncharacteristically self-conscious.

"Um, dear," noted the manager, "you didn't mention you  _also_ had tattoos..."

Sombra blinked then regarded her forearm and saw a neon glowing radius and ulna. She looked under her shoulder at her ribs and found that they too were glowing. Stripping was already more difficult than she thought and she hadn't even started dancing.

"What, _really?_ I thought I had these removed..." she sighed. She unsexily put her hands on her hips and looked up at the stage lights in thought. Amy snickered at her maliciously as she danced on a client. "Hey, Rosco!" Sombra finally shouted, "Turn off the UV lights!"

"Sure thing, boss," Rosco shouted back.

Sombra stood waiting for the UV lights to go down. To the manager's dismay, the patrons were starting to lose interest in Sombra.

"What's the hold up?" she shouted, highly interested in getting things moving.

"I'm waiting for the lights..."

"They already off, boss."

"Oh my God..." the manager muttered with a face palm.

"I don't know what it is," shrugged Sombra, regarding her Los Muertos tattoos, "I got them taken off but the UV light seems to have charged them up again... Interesting..."

"OK, get down from there," the manager ordered. Sombra shrugged and hopped off from the stage. "I can see that you are like Blue, more exotic than sexy," she said as Sombra approached.

"I'm _what?_ What did you call me?" asked Sombra in a hostile tone as she gave the manager a few shady blinks. She could almost accept that from the girls because they were idiots but not from her manager. "I'm not _exotic_. That's racist bullshit," Sombra asserted.

"Listen, honey. Stripping is about building a brand..." the manager noted, tapping into her veteran stripper sensibilities, "those are gang tattoos, right?"

Sombra looked down briefly then raised her head cocking it at the manager with a threatening look. "Yeah? Got a problem with that?"

"No. But I think I know how we can drum up a little interest in you..."

* * *

_The next day..._

Pharah stepped into the dim light and noise of the Aristocrat Lounge. She was tired and her head was already swimming from the surrealism of travel. Tourists and regulars filled the indecent establishment. She shuddered as she regarded the patron's drunken faces while they visually stimulated themselves by buying the attention of undressing girls. To Pharah, a healthy bisexual, such a place was depressing. All her sexual encounters were frank, with sexually unrepressed athletes. She'd lift weights next to an attractive girl or guy, they'd eye each other up as they worked out, they'd find a reason to stand near each other so they could get a whiff of each other's pheromones. _Voila,_ after a short conversation she'd invite them back to her place or theirs, whichever was easier, and they'd have a vigorous fuck. She'd had great sex with healthy men and women sporting impeccable bodies from all over the world that way. That was how she ended up with Angela, after all. These people, the unsatisfied married men, the professionals who were too busy to maintain relationships, the lonely people, gave her the fear. Why don't they just work out?

"Any sign of her?" came a voice over her earpiece.

"Negative."

Suddenly, the lights dimmed.

"Introducing, for the first time ever at the Aristocrat Lounge... The Los Muertos gangstress with a disposition for ultraviolence... The Latina punk rocker with a bad attitude... The type of girl you might see twerking it in a rap music video..."

"Hey, cut it with the introductions already!" came a voice from offstage, "I'm a stripper not a drag queen!"

"She'll take your money and leave you dead on the street. Straight from the violent streets of Mexico. The exotic..."

"I'M NOT FUCKING EXOTIC!"

"The dangerous, the sadistic, the salacious and seductive _girl with no name_..." the announcer rattled on, "the insatiable _Sombra!_ "

Latin electronic music filled the club as Sombra strut confidently on stage sporting a pink mohawk and trademark expensive black lingerie. As she took the pole, the crowd of international tourists and perverts was hushed in awe as they regarded her glowing tattoos. They'd only ever heard about Los Muertos from the news. The media variously portrayed them as a violent street gang and a radical left-wing terrorist group. They were recently responsible for a string of horrific casino and bank robberies in California as the gang expanded from Mexico to the United States after the revolution.

As Sombra worked the pole, it was immediately apparent that she was incredibly drunk. Her moves were seductive but ultimately lazy and uncomplex. For her it was clearly more about the attitude. Pharah swallowed as she watched Sombra hug herself and lick her shoulder, showing off her long almost phallic tongue. It was weird to Pharah, even if she hated her, Sombra was so gross and trashy she was hot. Watching her dance like that sent an unusual sensation right to her pelvis. Already, in Sombra's routine, the bra was off. Patrons rushed to get her attention and Sombra lay herself down drunkenly, hanging her head off the stage to collect her admirer's money.

Amy watched Sombra's sloshy performance disdainfully. She was a disgrace to the art, hardly even using the pole. Her body was a wreck, covered in scars and those awful tattoos. Amy could see that she didn't take care of herself, that she even had a slight pouch. It did nothing to deter the crowd. She became an instant hit as she playfully touched her patrons, especially the female ones, and sneakily invited them to touch and grope her against the club's rules.

Sombra continued her routine, noting that people seemed to be responding well to her unusually long tongue. She figured she would work it some more. She gripped the pole seductively and positioned her head right next to it.

"Oh no..." muttered Mercedes in dread, watching from her client's lap.

With one upward motion, Sombra seductively licked a good portion of the pole with her obscene tongue causing every dancer in the room that witnessed the act to shudder in disgust.

"That girl is going to be _very_ sick."

The crowd, however, received it very well. Pharah watched Sombra's maneuver wide-eyed and realized with a sort of reluctant horror that she was actually kind of wet. She shook her head to banish the thought and tapped her earpiece.

"I found the Talon agent, you're not going to believe..." she started to say when she spotted Amelie. "Hold on a second, I see Lacroix."

Pharah hurried over to the blue woman as she was on the prowl for a new client.

"Amelie! Amy..." she fumbled, trying to find the right volume to communicate in the noisy bar, "I'm Ana Amari's daughter, you knew my mother."

Amy cleared her throat. "Sorry, you've confused me with someone else..."

"Please, listen," started Pharah, "you're in danger here..."

"I'm fine, thank you," Amy interrupted, "there are kind gentlemen who work here who see to that."

"It's not like that, someone's after you. It's Talon, they want to kidnap you—"

"If you _insist_ on talking to me, you'll have to buy the time," Amy interrupted with a cold look.

Pharah blinked. It was unreal to her that Amelie didn't know who she was. She was being cold and businesslike. Unfriendly. It was clear she was neither Amelie or Widowmaker, though there were shades of both. "It's fine, I'll pay for whatever," said Pharah in a subdued tone.

Amy turned and beckoned her to follow. "Come with me, please..."


	6. Chapter 6

Pharah walked behind Amelie, her eye's transfixed on her incredible ass as she walked her through the dim light to one of the back rooms. She'd never been to a strip club in her life and was already overstimulated by how much sex was on display. Again, she was unaccustomed to this bizarre arrangement, in the past when she was horny she would do a quick calculation of who was available and how much she enjoyed sex with them and then booty call one of her previous lays she'd met at the gym. These days, however, she'd just stay horny and wait until Dr. Ziegler was back from work. Stimulus, release. No fantasy. She never ogled anyone as they passed, she didn't harbor any elaborate dreams of sexual adventures. Not really, until now.

Amelie as Widowmaker was her mother's persecutor, she was an enemy of the Amari family. Amelie as Amy was neither her old self or Widowmaker, she was something _other_ with only shades of her former identities.

Amy brought her into the private room and, detecting Pharah's apprehension, sat her down.

"You can take off that jacket," Amy stated.

"I only want to talk," Pharah asserted.

"I insist," she said, running her hands over Pharah's shoulders and under the brown leather jacket.

Pharah unzipped it and pulled her arms out of the sleeves. Amy subtly helped it off and it fell draped on the seat of the chair. Pharah cleared her throat as Amy gently passed her cool hands over her face and lips.

"I... have a girlfriend," she insisted, albeit with a hint of nervousness.

"Oh? We won't go very far, its like a picture show," Amy replied as she began to dance on Pharah's lap. It was odd, the woman seemed to want to dance even if she didn't have to. The exotic dancer regarded Pharah's physique in admiration as she worked. "My you do take care of yourself..." she noted, gyrating herself on Pharah's lap. "So, what did you want to talk about? I'm in danger? Tell me about this danger."

"You've been brainwashed and your memory's been erased," Pharah explained, appearing to strain as she talked, "you were a Talon agent named Widowmaker for years but something happened..."

"That's interesting," said Amy, appearing incredibly unamused, "tell me about this Widowmaker, if I was her what was I like?"

"She was a Talon slave, an emotionless pleasureless henchmen who simply killed whoever Talon told her to kill," Pharah explained.

There was that feeling in her pelvis again, if it wasn't Amelie, if she wasn't dating Dr. Ziegler, if it wasn't against the rules, she'd just grab the dancer and kiss her. Pharah had never really been refused and if she had it was only because of a misunderstanding.

"It's funny, I don't really feel any pleasure myself these days. I don't know if I ever have in my entire life. Not really from sex, even..." Amy paused as she uttered those last words. Distant sounds and disjointed images of her with a man in their honeymoon bed bringing her to a rapturous orgasm. The kind one can only have with a close lover. She suddenly felt very sad. She shook her head and continued dancing, it was just a fantasy. "Such an empty woman, she must have found her satisfaction somewhere..."

"Only in killing, I think," murmured Pharah, looking between her legs at Amelie's pelvis.

"How dramatic," the dancer replied flatly, "And I suppose you want to take me away? To protect me?"

"Yes, its necessary," Pharah replied, adopting her authoritative "security expert" voice.

Amy frowned. "You must understand, my line of work makes me deeply suspicious of your request," she sighed, "but, strangely, you're not the first person to tell me these things..."

"Pharah... Pharah..." came Tracer's voice over Pharah's tiny earpiece. "What's your status?"

The dancer sat on Pharah's lap and brought her arms around her neck with a coy smile, the Egyptian woman gulped with a grimace. Did she hear? Amy inspected Pharah's nervous face as she seductively slid her fingers down the back of her ear and pulled out the little com piece. She brought it to her mouth and looked directly into Pharah's eyes as she spoke with a little smirk.

"Hello, I would like to say this clearly to whoever is listening, I am Amy _not_ Amelie. I was never an assassin and I _do not_ need your protection. If you keep sending people I will dance for them and take their money but I am not going anywhere. That is all."

She inserted the com piece back behind the dually bewildered and captivated Egyptian woman's ear and continued her lap dance.

* * *

"Fuck's sake," groaned Tracer throwing down her headphones and sitting back in her chair. The agents had set up their communications equipment at the small desk provided for them in their tiny Amsterdam hotel room. Mercy and Ana stood hovering over her shoulders to listen in on the op. They leaned back with frustrated sighs. Ana sat herself on the bed and crossed her arms as Dr. Ziegler paced in thought.

"Perhaps if she sees that the threat is real, if we allow Talon to strike first, she'll come with us," offered Ana.

"So, we'll actually have to use the dancer cover... I was hoping not to," Mercy noted. "If she won't come with us, we need that cover to be in a position to stop Talon from administering whatever it is that will recondition her."

"Well, that's grand," moaned Tracer, "then we'll need to be watching her 24/7!"

"Indeed," Ana grimly concurred. "This mission, it seems, has gotten a whole lot longer and more difficult."

"And I can only be away from my UN post for so long..." added Mercy. She pondered for a few more moments as she got a sense of the full picture of their situation. "We're all exhausted from travel," she sighed, "and there's nothing more we can do tonight. We'll start again tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Talon girls get weird.

Sombra wretched and impatiently tossed a now empty bottle of potent smelling chemicals aside. She'd dumped the entire contents into the bathtub along with several other noxious chemicals to form an insidious mixture. Gabriel clipped in on her com piece. She wretched again and pressed it.

"Hello, Gabe? I'm a little busy," she said, pressing her ear against her shoulder so she could keep her hands free.

"You didn't send me a status report," he grumbled.

" _¡A huevo!_ I was sick, I'm pretty sure I'm _still_ sick but there's literally nothing in my stomach to throw up. I'm going on amphetamines alone since I can't eat any fucking thing."

"Spare me the details, Sombra. What's Widowmaker's status?"

Sombra struggled as she picked up the body of an elderly dutch man with a strangly placid final expression and dragged him into the bathtub.

"Sombra!" Gabriel barked.

She dropped the corpse in the tub, splashing the noxious chemicals. Immediately, the body began to disintegrate.

"What!? I dunno! She's not buying any of it," she shouted back, throwing her hands up, "she's very competitive though..."

Sombra took the opportunity to quickly pull a shoe off the rapidly disintegrating carcass, tossing it over her shoulder into the corner. When she pulled the second off, however, the entire foot detached. She shrugged and slipped the shoe off then nonchalantly tossed the foot back in the bubbling concoction.

"Have you found cover?" asked Gabe through his teeth, emphasizing each word.

"Yeah, yeah, I got a job at the club and a place to stay."

"Good. R&D is still working on a solution. They said her conditioning was supposed to be a one time thing. They've never had to recondition someone in the field."

"Huh? So, what is that?" asked Sombra impatiently.

"It means it will _take time_ , so lay low, this assignment might be longer than you think."

"Hmm, I don't really _like_ being a stripper, Gabe," Sombra replied with palpable hostility, "I got violently sick my first day on the job. So, how about instead of laying low, I shoot her with a tranquilizer gun and drag her back to R &D? That work for you, Gabe?"

"Agent Widowmaker is immune to all sedatives and tranquilizers. Try again."

Sombra turned around and wretched forcefully into the sink then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "OK, so I'll hit her over the head and tie her up," she said, leaning on the porcelain.

"Widowmaker is immune to concussions and can't be knocked unconscious but you can certainly try tying her up."

"What'll happen to me if I try that?"

"She has inhuman flexibility, Widowmaker can contort out of any binding."

"What if I shoot her with a gun?"

"She's no good to us dead, Sombra."

" _Chale!_ Not in the head, dumb ass. Just like somewhere to slow her down a little."

"You don't get it Sombra. She doesn't feel pain, she doesn't bleed, she doesn't _feel anything_. Talon engineered her to be completely immune to any bodily limitation."

"So, that's why she's such a terrifying bitch," muttered Sombra. She frowned and eyed the ceiling impatiently before slapping her sides. "OK, Gabe, I guess I keep the stripper cover then. Happy for me?"

There was a knock from downstairs.

"Whoops, gotta go."

Sombra barreled down the stairs and opened the door to see two round faced kids in traditional Dutch clothing standing in the entrance. To her they looked like Hanzel and Gretel.

"Who are you? Where's grand papa?" the boy asked innocently.

"I'm, uh, the cleaning lady," she replied. She leaned over them and looked onto the street with shifty eyes. "Do your parents know where you are?"

"No."

"Come in," Sombra replied propping the door open, "your grand papa is just taking a nap..."

* * *

Amy flung herself from one of her practice ropes to the other and climbed to the bottom. There she wrapped the rope around her right leg. With a deft motion she jumped and twisted so it wrapped around her torso. She twisted up and caught the rope mid-air and gripped it. Using her core muscles, she twisted her self up again until more of the rope was gathered around her torso. She repeated the process until she was at the height of the rope in a weird cocoon. There she saw her friend.

"Hello, Monsieur Spider," she said in a deranged childlike voice, "I thought you would have left..."

She observed the eight legged creature jump sideways from its web onto a fly and sink its fangs into its prey. She gasped. Amy felt her heart leap as a sudden stimulation coursed through her otherwise dead nerves at the sight of the kill.

"You are a beasty, aren't you, Monsieur Spider?" she said, sounding almost proud of the predacious insect.

Amy looked down from the ceiling. She wasn't sure if her skills as a gymnast would prevail against the potential fall.

"How am I going to get out of this one?" she asked herself solemnly, losing her farcical voice.

No way to know but to try. She let herself unravel, keeping her body taut and building increasing momentum as she twisted down. Her senses heightened as the precise moment approached where she had to act. It was the difference between injury and a perfect landing. She twisted and landed weightlessly on pointed toes like an Olympic gymnast as the hook supporting the rope was wrenched out of the ceiling. The rope coiled behind her followed by a loud metal _ping!_ of the support colliding with the bare hardwood floor.

"Hey! Cut that out!" came a shout from below.

" _Pas mal..._ " Amy muttered, almost in confusion. Not even she was sure how she did that.

She looked at the clock. It was almost time for work.


	8. Chapter 8

Amy stepped into the club with her usual formless coat and duffel to witness three strange women talking with her manager. The dancer was slightly on edge and put off by the new people, she was sure she'd seen a masked figure on the rooftops watching her as she walked but every time she caught it, it disappeared like a hallucination. She recognized at least one of the women from the night before. The tall brown skinned woman with the Eye of Horus makeup. She hadn't noticed the mark before, yesterday in the dim light, but today it was a stain. She couldn't take her eyes off of it. But just thinking about it sent a shiver down her spine. The other two women were a blonde professional looking girl of indistinct age and a gawky freckled girl with short cropped hair. Both of them seemed out of place. Amy walked past them with a businesslike strut to the Aristocrat's infamous changing room.

The butts of the dancers were again there in a row in front of the large mirror, Amy took her position and began fixing her makeup. Daisy, the blonde dutch girl in her trademark frilly pink bustier, raised her head from the counter, tapping her right nostril repeatedly as she held her head back.

"Oh my God, I love coke," she moaned with little tears in her eyes.

"Honey, it's not so good for you..." Mercedes replied in her luxurious Spanish accent. "It'll mess up your heart and you'll look like Blue except ugly."

"Whatever."

"No sign of Sombra?" asked Amy.

"Of course not, you're not even supposed to touch the pole without washing your hands," Mercedes answered as she caked on dark makeup. Today she was going for a sullen 'Iberian queen' look. "She made a rookie mistake."

The door burst open with a rattle causing it to re-close again. It was the woman with the eye tattoo, she caught the door awkwardly and opened it more slowly letting the other two women in.

"So many new people!" exclaimed Daisy, excitedly jumping up and down, "so beautiful!"

"Don't mind her," noted Scarlett, turning from the mirror, "she's a kid but someone let her have coke so she thinks about everything is beautiful."

"Hey, I'm 18!"

"The only thing more obnoxious is her daddy fetish," added Mercedes.

"That's so mean..." the hypomanic coke-addled stripper pouted, "I mean, I did it for money at first but it works..."

The three Overwatch agents regarded the dancers in some sort of awe but then caught sight of Widowmaker's booty as she leaned over the counter applying her makeup. Their eyes shifted uncomfortably between the ass of the girl they knew as Amelie and the gaggle of pretty dancers. They were completely unsure of how to conduct themselves. Lena dropped her bag and began to laugh nervously as her primordial social defense mechanisms kicked in.

"Heh heh, heh, h-hi, everyone!" she ejaculated extending her hand.

"Aww, your accent is adorable! I'm Skye. It's OK to be shy, we're all here to support you."

She went in to hug and give Tracer a cheek kiss. The pilot flushed as she received it. "I'm gay-cer, I mean gay, I mean Tra— _Lena!_ Yeah, that's the ticket!"

"Oh wow, dear," muttered Scarlett, regarding the insufferably gay pilot as she rest her hand on her hip. "Lena, huh? You know, you honestly look like someone I know..."

The Overwatch agents exchanged nervy glances.

"You're English, right? Have you ever heard of Agyness Deyn? You might go blonde, dear. You'll look just like her."

"Oh! I can help!" offered Daisy, raising her hand.

"She looks like Tracer, the Overwatch hero, but with more piercings," Amy interrupted as she fixed the clasp on her bustier. "And at this point I wouldn't at all be surprised if it was her, here to tell me I'm in actuality a cold blooded assassin."

"Heh, heh, funny thing, luv," started Tracer.

"Sorry about Blue, she'd been weird since the new girl got here."

"I don't know about Sombra, but you three will probably make up for the damage she's doing."

"You," announced Scarlett, regarding Pharah and her sleek black hair, "are stunning, what's your name?"

"Um, thank you... Pharah..."

"Waow, _quelle exotique,_ " Scarlett purred. Amy shook her head in disdain at her French pronunciation. "But you, blonde. Are you sure you want to be here? You're not lost on your way to take your kids to practice?"

Mercy's hair bristled but she settled herself. "As a matter of fact, I _do_ take my kid to practice and I _do_  want to be here. Nothing's too good for my little girl," she lied straight faced.

"Awww," all the dancers but Amy cooed.

Pharah regarded her curiously. "You don't—," she started to say but Mercy elbowed her.

"Well, you look great for a mom and this will keep you in shape," noted Skye. "Guys really do fall for that single mother story..."

"No need for a story if you have talent," Amy interrupted harshly, "I suppose we'll see if you have any of that soon enough." Tracer and Mercy exchanged glances. Amelie was unhinged, she truly thought this was her life and that they were muscling in on her hustle.

"So, what do we do with you, hmm?" asked Mercedes, putting her makeup away, "You'll need names, you don't want men stalking you on the internet."

"I like the English one," noted Scarlett, regarding Tracer's industrial piercings and patched up leather jacket. "She's a bit of a punk, yeah? How do you like the name Ricochet?"

"Well, they call me Tra—," she started to reply when Mercy elbowed her, "Ricochet works."

"Honey, you don't have any waist or cleavage, what on Earth are you going to work in?" noted Skye.

"Boyshorts," the girls concurred collectively.

"Ah, just go topless with the leather jacket and you're Agyness," Scarlett added. "You're a supermodel. Think of it like a photoshoot."

"Heh heh, _really_..." Tracer snorted waving them off.

The girls' attention turned to Pharah then immediately to her eye makeup.

"Queen of the Nile..." said Skye in a singsong.

"Cleopatra," the girls said in unison.

"I’m really more Canadian than Egyptian—half Native American,” Pharah introjected as she clutched her hair nervously.

"Ah, we don’t know any Native American stripper names."

"Just, like, Pocahontas. Ooh, that could be good, like a Disney princess!"

"Do you have an Indian name you want Pharah?"

Pharah balked.

"I, uh, don’t know any..."

"Well, what’s the tribe, honey?" Scarlett asked noticing her discomfort, "We can look up a name on the internet easy."

She blinked a few times as she felt herself become frustrated. She didn’t know.

"How about Cleo for now?" Scarlett offered with an uneasy smile when she saw Pharah was having trouble. “We’ll find you a name.”

Their eyes turned to the doctor.

"Mercy," Dr. Ziegler asserted, before they could say anything.

They nodded in friendly but begrudging agreement not wanting to challenge her. Naming was a bit of a ritual for them.

"Mama Mercy," Skye purred as she rocked her head, "I think it fits..."

"Girls, hit the floor," the manager called in. "New girls, stay in there, I'll talk to you in a minute."

The drunken pole dancers piled out the door, passing the agents in their overgalvanized lingerie, boudoir clothing and undergarments to start their hustle. Amy passed with her nose in the air, she hated all these new people. The three agents sighed as it dawned on them what they were getting themselves in to. These vivacious strippers were exhausting to talk to, they cherished being alone for a moment.

"Pharah, my love. Do you know what _lying_ is?" Mercy asked through her teeth.

Pharah scratched the back of her head with a flat smile. She hated it when the doctor made her feel like a brainless jock.

"Strippers, Pharah, love a good working mom story," noted Mercy.

"Ah, the new meat," said the manager as she stepped in rubbing her hands. "We're becoming quite international."

Pharah rubbed her arm in discomfort. The term "meat" made her uneasy.

"Lena, right?" the manager said, "do you always have that goofy smile on? Try bringing your mouth forward like this."

The veteran stripper pouted and morphed her old face into that of an aloof and mysterious model. Lena tried to copy it but ended up making an expression similar to a kissing fish.

"Um, don't try too hard. OK, just stop." She put her hands on her hips and regarded the girls with a sigh. "OK, I'm an old lesbian so I can clearly see you girls are _different_. But I've also been in the stripper business a long time so I got a sense for people," she said plainly. "You there, blondy, you're probably more suited for a board room. Was it business school you went to?"

Mercy's eyes shifted. "Medical."

"Cleopatra over here, you sure you want to be a stripper and not a bouncer? You're either an athlete or in the military."

"Security."

"Ms. Punkrock I'm not so sure about except that she's too gay for words."

"Fair," Tracer replied.

The manager wagged her finger at the agents. "Now, I don't know what you all are doing here but if you want to stay working here you have to make money." She lowered her voice to a hush so her corrupted bouncers wouldn't hear. "And if you help me with a hacker problem, I'll make sure you're successful... Deal?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lady agents confront some issues of perception and identity during their debut.

_A few days later..._

Sombra strolled into the strip club fashionably late to her shift. She'd been absent several days, green from illness, but now she was back and determined. In her possession was an unusual headpiece. With noticeable discomfort, however, she witnessed three people she recognized but _really_ didn't want to. Fortunately for her the agents were too busy with their work to notice her.

Quickly, she sought out Amy.

"Blue, I want to buy some time with you..."

" _N'importe quoi_ ," she replied.

In a private room, Sombra sat Amy down.

"Oh, am I getting a dance from you today?" she asked skeptically, sitting with her knees crossed in the chair.

"No, I have something better," Sombra replied with a sneer.

She opened her bag and retrieved what to Amy appeared to be an odd helmet with multiple red lenses. Sombra placed the helmet on Amy's head as she sat with a pouty frown.

"What is _this_?" she asked with no small wonder.

"Eh, something from your old life. Think of it as a new way of seeing."

Sombra awkwardly felt around the helmet looking for a button. Upon finding it, the visor snapped shut over Amy's eyes causing her to jump. Immediately, her vision was enhanced. The helmet brought all of her cognitive and perceptual abilities to bear. She could see the smallest detail in almost every direction.

"I can see..." Amy muttered in fascination, almost sounding turned on. "What is this marvelous device?"

"Your tactical helmet."

"May I keep it?"

Sombra smirked. "Of course, it's yours."

Amy passed her hand in front of her face to see it appear in eight different ways in the visor's viewfinder. She rotated it in front of her eyes, captivated.

"It's beautiful... I'm in love..."

* * *

"Has anyone seen Amy? She's almost on," asked the manager.

Suddenly, the club's lights dimmed while the stage lights brightened. The performance was to proceed anyways. But no sign of Amy.

"Look," shouted a patron, "she's at the top!"

Amy descended down the pole like a spider wearing her unusual helmet. At once, her pole dancing became creepy, showing off her skills as a contortionist as she twisted effortlessly around the pole. She'd commanded Rosco to play a somewhat eerie forlorn violin solo. The patrons held on to their money as they observed the strange striptease turned circus show.

Tracer, now a platinum blonde, looked on in horror. This new persona of Amy's was definitely more Widowmaker then Amelie.

"Who gave her that ridiculous hat?" the manager shouted. "Amy take that thing off!"

Despite the strangeness of her new routine, the main difference, the stain her admirers and regulars immediately noticed, was that she was grinning the whole time.

Amy quite liked being weird.

The manager stepped behind the DJ booth and elbowed Rosco.

"Turn this off, play something people get."

"Uh, sure thing, boss. I turn up the autism for make money, yeah?"

Amy caught the exchange in her visor. To her disappointment a Eurotrash song kicked on over her solo. Her grin vanished into a frown as she switched back to her old routine, much to the pleasure of the crowd. Soon enough the helmet was off and her clothes shortly followed as she danced with cold precision.

She was becoming tired of this job.

Sombra cackled to herself as she watched from the bar. Her idea was working. Even if her memory and programming weren't kicking back in, it was plain to see that her augmentations made it more physically pleasurable to act like Widowmaker than Amy.

Tracer was up next.

She bounced on her toes dressed in tiny red boy shorts sporting an RAF roundel on the seat and her punky leather jacket. The girls had done her makeup for what felt like hours. Now her natural skin was a little more pale, her cute freckles accentuated, and the lines of her eyes made sharp and vicious instead of round and friendly. But could she be sexy?

"Straight from London's underground music scene, the young anti-social anarchist with a heart of gold, the spunky androgynous punk rocker who's everyone's friend..."

"Really?" muttered Sombra from the bar. "Who makes these things up?"

"Hey, I want a dance," asked an approaching patron.

Sombra pushed his face away in irritation. "I'm busy, fuck off."

Her eyes trawled towards the DJ booth, with disbelief she realized Rosco was the one performing the ridiculous introductions. _That Eastern European fucko_ , Sombra thought. Why didn't he talk like that normally? He was just stringing everyone along...

" _Ricochet!_ "

"Cheers love!" called Tracer to the crowd as the bounded on stage to an electro remix of London Calling.

Immediately, she stumbled and flailed but she caught herself and took the pole in hand. In a flash she forgot the routine she'd been practicing for days and turned bright red. As her mind reeled she simply decided to wing it and shake her little ass. Straight people would like that, she thought. Yeah...

The crowd watched the Brit dance fixated on her chest, trying to catch little glimpses of her tits as she worked the pole with her charmingly goofy amateurish moves. She sauntered towards the crowd with her hand on her hip.

"Shall I take it off then?" she asked, adding a little call and response to her performance.

Raucous in the affirmative emanated from the crowd.

"Hah! Really!" she said snapping her heels together and flinging the jacket off with one hand.

The crowd whistled and applauded with particular uproar coming from the U.K. section as she stood naked with her hands on her hips.

"That's what I've got, do you like them?" she said raising her hands in the air and bending her knee, posing from left to right.

She looked down at her chest and hugged herself as she wiggled her freckled shoulders to show off her petite tits.

"Rah-ther!"

"They're right bangin' luv!" a gentleman drunkenly called out in thick cockney.

"Thank you!" she called back awkwardly in singsong.

"She looks like a _boy_..." complained a German business man.

"Oi, show a little respect, mate. English girls go through puberty a little late, yeah? It's just how they look!"

As a patriotically motivated debate carried on as to whether or not a man would be gay for liking Tracer's body carried on, she skipped back and forth across the stage collecting money from her mostly British admirers, giggling and saying "thank you!" as she passed.

"Next for your viewing pleasure is our very own blonde and beautiful Swiss-German type-A personality, she's that busy professional girl you can bring home to your parents, that faithful lady-friend who'll keep you in line and support you all the way..."

Backstage, Mercy briefly grimaced at how basic she sounded.

"The responsible, the ethical, the _breedable_ , the angelic Mercy!"

After being given pause at the notion of being described as "breedable," the doctor strut on stage in a two-piece lifeguard swimsuit and white feathery wings like a Victoria's Secret model to the kick of a German electro song with heavenly airs. Notably, via her medical sensibilities, she avoided the stripper pole completely, walking right past it and starting her dance. The Aristocrat's Germanic audiences immediately perked up.

"Now _zat_ is a woman!"

Mercy eyed the crowd indifferently with her done up blue eyes, trying to maintain her divine appearance as she struggled to keep her tummy sucked in.

"Tad old to be a stripper," muttered a patron, used to seeing the Aristocrats younger dancers.

"If you cannot see zat zis voman is perfection you are subhuman garbage."

"She's got mom arms."

"Again, if you don't vant to at least see zis voman naked, I don't know vat I can do vif you. Now, shut up."

Mercy leaned over and expertly teased the crowd with her tits, letting her top come slightly undone. When she'd earned their interest she wrapped her arms over her breasts to squish them as she ran her hand along the rim of her bathingsuit bottom to subtly reveal that she was completely shaven. Turning with a strut, she let her top fall to the floor as she seductively presented her round ass and appealing Venus dimples to the crowd.

Sombra watched the absurd display of the enemy agents from her spot at the bar with endless amusement. _So, this mission was going to be fun after all_ , she thought as she pounded a shot of tequila.

Mercy faced the crowd again with a smirk trying not to let the crowd know her self-confidence was ravaged by the "mom arms" comment and ran her hands down her body. The towheaded doctor's tiny blonde forearm hairs shown in the revealing stage light as she crept her hands down her flat curvy tummy to her waist. There she delicately lowered her swimsuit bottom past her hip bones to just below her hairless mons, revealing the dangerously placed "Mercy x Pharah" heart tattoo just barely above and to the right of her labia.

"Uunnng!" Sombra moaned loudly from the bar. The blonde doctor's dance struck her right in the clit, she ached for her.

Mercy finished her striptease and strut off stage, leaving her Germanic patrons to dream of efficient reproductive sex with her and their beautiful blonde-haired blue-eyed aryan children. Back stage she let out a massive sigh of relief that she could unsuck her tummy.

"My God, mom arms?" she muttered.

Pharah looked back at her unsure of what to say, too dreadfully nervous about her own debut.

"She has the body of an Egyptian goddess, the regal composure of a Nile queen, I present to you for the first time at the Aristocrat Lounge, the stunning, the exotic..."

"Exotic?" Pharah spat as she made a face of disgust.

"Cleopatra!"

To Pharah's dismay, mysterious electronic music with a Middle Eastern progression was piped in and she again made a face of disgust. It was bogus and insulting to her but she shut it out and tried to think of what was ahead as some sort of bizarre workout.

She strut on stage in a very wide mesh fishnet bodysuit wearing an asp headband made in a culturally oblivious Egyptian style and gold bangles. The girls had worked her over: her kohl makeup was done into thick almond shaped cat-eyes to play up her olive-skinned Egyptian seductress role, they'd given her a belly button piercing to accentuate her toned abs and arm cuffs with black sleeves to hide her developed biceps. At the girl's advice, she'd shaven her pubic hair into a little landing strip and it somewhat supported her confidence since she was already pretty much revealing everything through her skimpy outfit.

She took to the pole with surprising expertise, being sure not to strain too hard lest she alienate the patrons by showing off her muscles.

With a twirl, the crowd was hypnotized by her mysterious dance but was silent. Every so often the light would hit her just right revealing that she was, quite frankly, jacked which would elicit an unconscious elbow raise and glance downward from the male patrons to cross check that their biceps were at least the same size as hers. She wasn't sure if the crowd liked her dancing.

"Take em' off!" someone yelled from the back.

Pharah could tell the crowd was fixated on her body, there was only one thing they could be referring to. With a shrug she tore off the sleeves and felt the room's collective hearts skip a beat.

Now they could see her statuesque body fully.

Pharah nervously peeked backstage looking for anyone’s support but met eyes with Tracer who simply stared back at her with a goofy infatuated smile.

Suddenly, the room erupted into rowdy cheers. They were in love with her athletic physique, she was an instant hit. Before her, she witnessed an army of patrons brandishing their money at her and her confidence soared.

A devious moment of thought and she decided to ham up her Egyptian Queen aesthetic, channeling Aaliyah’s performance as the Queen of the Damned by rocking her shoulders and undulating her belly as she approached her adoring subjects for their money.

"Oh wow!" noted Daisy, catching Pharah's performance as she prowled for clients. "She even has lady abs." She poked her tummy as she tried to flex but it just looked flat. "I wish I had lady abs..."

At the bar, Sombra pounded down three more shots of tequila as she felt her libido skyrocket at the sight of the fit Egyptian woman's erotic dancing.

Pharah wiggled herself seductively in front of her admirers, jangling her jewelry as she delicately took their cash. Finally, she strut off stage with a half-amused smirk as the mysterious middle eastern electronic music came to an end. 

When the agent's debut was over, Sombra sloshed her way to the changing room with a salacious grin to greet them.

"Mom arms? What's that even mean, luv?" she overheard Tracer saying.

The door burst open.

" _Hola_ , _amigos_..." Sombra said with a hiccup, "so, they called you exotic too, huh?"

"Sombra. Why you—!" cursed Tracer.

"Yeah, ish me, wanna fight about it?" The agents glowered at the terrorist in silence. The libidinous hacker, however, simply grinned and stared back at them drunkenly. "Thought so. You know, the funny thing about Europe ish they think in stereotypes..." She hiccuped.

"What the hell do you want, Sombra?" Mercy snapped, wiping some of her running mascara off her face.

"You guys are so hot..." the hacker pined stumbling towards the done up agents. 

"Oi, she's blitzed out of her mind," noted Tracer with an eyebrow raise. "Aren't you on soon, ya filthy terrorist? Better dance before we throw you in jail."

Sombra chuckled cruelly with a hiccup. "You can't do anything to me, I'm untouchable," she said, raising an eyebrow herself. "Go ahead, turn me in. Overwatch is illegal, you're a terrorist just like me."

"You'll never take Amelie back," Tracer spat back.

"Lishen, Widowmaker is _mine._ There's no way she'll be friends with you. I got what she needs and when she turns back on, you're all _dead_."

As if on cue, Amy waltzed in wearing her helmet.

"Pharah, Mercy, Lena!" she exclaimed, uncharacteristically hugging them all against her cool skin, "You guys all _killed_ it, that was a stunning debut!" She turned to Sombra. "Did you like my dance? This hat is amazing, Sombra. I feel like a new person, it's so satisfying to see this way. Maybe you do know something about me after all..."

The agents and Sombra looked at her in disbelief.

"I want to hang out with you all, to get to know you," Amy confessed. "I'd invite you to my place but it's so small... is there some place we can go?"

"We can go to my place," Sombra offered with an evil grin.

"Could we? That would be exquisite," said Amy. Suddenly, electronic music with a distinctive Latin beat began pumping. "Oh, Sombra, I think you're next..."

The manager poked her head in. "Sombra, what's the hold up? Get out there!" she said curtly then dipped out. "Actually, looking pretty good, Sombra. You lost weight. Though you seem kind of pale, fix that up, its kind of not your thing," she noted dipping back in.

"Grrrr," Sombra growled as she hunched her shoulders and stormed past the agents.


	10. Chapter 10

Sombra drunkenly dragged herself to the stage to slosh through her performance and the agents were granted a brief moment of privacy.

"What the hell do we do?!" hissed Tracer.

"Obviously, we go with her!" Mercy hissed back.

Amy blinked as she fixed her makeup. "I can hear everything, you know. Is there a problem?"

"Not a thing, luv!"

"You know, I hardly trusted you before," she said approaching the three agents, "but I admire artistry. Pharah, you have so much potential..."

The regular strippers bounded in, showering the Overwatch ladies in praise before manning the wide mirror to fix their makeup and adjust their sweaty clothes.

"No breaks until you're done, ladies!" shouted the manager barreling back in and clapping her hands, "The place is packed and it'll be a long night so get back on the floor!"

"Boo," muttered Daisy as she adjusted her bustier.

"OK, so we hit the floor," said Mercy huddling the agents together and making deliberate eye contact with of them, "it'll be messy out there so watch out. Pharah and I will stick together, Tracer... Oddly, I think you have this. Keep Amy in your sight, don't let her leave with Sombra."

"Roger!" said Tracer.

"We just have to survive this job for one night and we can get Amelie back..." Pharah and Tracer nodded solemnly in agreement. "OK, lets do it."

They broke and prepared themselves to enter the noise and debauchery of the seedy club.

* * *

"Sombra, status," barked Gabriel over Sombra's earpiece.

"This is literally the worst time, Gabe," she replied as she twirled herself on the pole. "I'm at work."

"R&D thinks they've got a solution. They're delivering it now to the dead drop."

"What is it?"

"It's a drug, you'll need to get close enough to administer it."

"What does it do?"

"It works in several stages, stage one sends the target into a previous developmental state coupled with a mild euphoria, stage two causes them to wildly hallucinate, stage three instigates a state of heightened susceptibility to suggestion and extremely rapid learning and memory formation, stage four is unknown but it's possible the target will begin to act on the strong instinctual urges from their programming."

"Intriguing," noted Sombra flatly, "then what?"

"Then she's back, in theory she'll be Widowmaker. But Sombra, it's incredibly important that you _do not screw this up._ You have to remind Widowmaker who she is, at stage three you need to be prepared with cues that will trigger associations to her old identity so we're sending you media to _show to her,_ are you listening?"

"Fucking yes, Gabe!"

"You show her the tape and nothing else. No one can interfere with the programming. If there is the slightest interruption or interference it could have long standing unknown impacts on her conditioning. We can't lose her, she's our most lethal agent."

"Huh," thought Sombra aloud as she watched the Overwatch agents step out of the changing room, "how much can you send?"

* * *

The strippers hit the floor for what might be unironically called the "grind" portion of their profession.

It was a busy night and the club was full. Rosco's music thumped over the sound of clinking bar drinks and uproarious chatter. The economic depression was in full tilt: alcohol was cheap and tourists were flocking from all over the world to Amsterdam's seediest establishments for amusement.

Tracer made off to entertain the unofficial Briton section of the club in her punky stripper outfit. Pharah and Mercy patrolled together, staying within eye shot of one another. Amy, however, was being propositioned for a different diversion.

“You want me to play a game with you?” she asked, blinking incredulously.

“Yeah, an arcade game,” replied the drunken foreigner, having to yell over the music of Sombra's performance. He was American and well meaning enough. He looked fairly normal, bland even in his dress shirt, blazer and jeans. He didn't seem like a pervert though the request was odd. “I just want to take a picture of me doing it. It’s stupid...”

Amy extended her neck as she cast him a curious look. “What game?”

“ _That_ game,” he said pointing to an arcade cabinet in the corner, away from the action of the central floor and stage.

“Big Buck Hunter,” Amy said slowly, pronouncing each syllable in her European accent. She sighed and shook her head. “Alright, but its going to be extra because I don’t understand.”

They made their way over to the cabinet. The American fed the machine coins and then grabbed one of it's pair of plastic orange shotguns. He pumped it and fired at the screen, making his game mode selections.

“They have these in dives all over the US. I can't believe they have one here, my friends will love this,” he explained, “here take a controller.”

The dancer blinked at him in confusion.

"Um, the plastic gun," he clarified, noting her look.

Amy apprehensively picked up the light gun and held it daintily with a somewhat disgusted face. “I hate guns,” she said coolly.

“Here, do you mind if I...” he asked as he adjusted her grip on the device. She placidly allowed him to manipulate her body as if he were her ballet instructor. He swallowed as he made the brief transgression, finding Amy's body very pliable although unnaturally cold. “There you go, now you can aim better. It helps if you stand tall like this and look down the sight.”

“What are we shooting? People?”

“Just animals,” replied the poor fellow, slightly frustrated at the resistance he was getting from the beautiful dancer. “It’s starting.”

He began shooting the screen as digital elk pranced across it. Amy blinked a few times and fired some uncertain shots, forgetting to pump her gun to reload. She exhaled impatiently. “I don’t get it...” she sighed.

Again, the American tried to be a sport but was clearly becoming somewhat frustrated that this wouldn’t be as fun as he imagined.

“Yeah, you have to reload after each shot, like this,” he said demonstrating.

Amy's eyes widened as she witnessed the decisive motion. Her mirror neurons lit up. She gripped the plastic shotgun properly and pumped it in the way he showed her. At once, she was overcome by the sensation of some long dormant muscle memory activating.

“Got it?” he asked.

Amy was silent as she glared down the sight. He looked at her sidelong and wondered why this girl had to be weird.

She readied the gun and controlled her breathing as the timer counted down to start.

3...

2...

1...

Suddenly, it all felt foolish. The gun was a toy, unbalanced and without any real firing mechanisms. The perceptual field provided by the game was an uncomplicated 2D plane simulating 3D physics, there was no wind, no travel time of the bullet to the target, no drop off, no need to compensate, only to place the sight over the target.

She watched the screen populate. One by one she placed perfect shots on each helpless running animal, reloading after each shot with a decisive pump. It was a slaughter. The tourist peered over his shoulder, watching Amy's emotionless face as she aimed and fired—the digital muzzle flash eerily reflecting off her cold greenish yellow eyes. He’d never seen anything like it, it was as if her targets were standing still. Each bullet hit their mark placed perfectly either between the eyes or in the heart.

The scenario ended and the score screen unfolded before them.

100% accuracy. New high score.

“Holy shit...” he muttered in disbelief.

He didn’t even have an opportunity to fire, she’d killed everything.

Amy began to shoot the letters for her name but felt something in her mind skip. She shot the letters A and M but then instinctively went for E.

“How do I go back? My names Amy... It’s Amy,” she said sounding slightly distraught. She decided to screw it and just submit that as her name but wound up missing the “enter” button and shooting the "L" next to it. Finally, to her dismay, she submitted AMEL. The top score, one above D.Va.

“Heh, Amel. You can hit every shot perfectly except for when it comes to your own name…”

A wave of dissociation hit her when she realized she was posing for a picture with the plastic gun. The flash bulb blinked in her face. She didn't look awful but she appeared noticeably aloof and model-like, in a state of placid confusion as she awkwardly held the gun.

“Thanks… it was, uh, fun...” he said placing his phone in his pocket then handing her a crumple of Euros, “well, here you go. See you ‘round.”

"I think I'll play this game again some time," she called after him, suddenly overcome by a goofy smile, "I _like_ it, I don't usually _like_ things."

"Glad I could show it to you, looks like you have a hidden talent," he said raising his hand up before disappearing into the chaos of the club.

Amy turned back to the screen and grinned viciously, he was out but she'd earned a free game. She held the gun to the screen and concentrated, preparing for the next round when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Blue! What are you doing? We're so busy, I'm about to pay the waitresses to strip! Get back out there!"

"It was for a client..." Amy explained, turning to face her fretting manager.

Her eyes zeroed in on her jugular, she could see the stress effecting her body: the size of her pupils in the dim light, the rate her veins were pulsing, the sweat on her hands. Her mind was excited from the action in the video game. It was leaking into the real world.

"Are you OK?" the woman asked nervously as she felt Amy's gaze taking her apart. Her veteran stripper instincts detected the eyes of a predator on her. It was like she was a different person.

"I'm fine," she said subtly shaking her head with a fake smile.

The manager raised her chin to her and eyed her skeptically. The smile was meant to be disarming but it looked cruel to her. "Just get back to work..."

 * * *

Mercy stood over her client as he leaned back in his seat in anticipation. He'd just bought a dance for 50 Euro which was exchanging well against the dollar. Her professionalism dictated that she just do it without reservation but this was so much more intimate than dancing on stage. Her patron was young and about as nervous looking as she felt. Both of them stared at each other in anticipation as the club bustled around them.

Finally, she blinked to try and disrupt her inaction.

 _Here goes_.

She began to work her hips, gyrating herself rhythmically to the music until...

"Angela!" called a man from across the room. She stopped dancing immediately and cringed at the sound of the familiar voice. "Is that you? You look... tan."

A blonde haired blue eyed man who looked far too innocent to be there approached wearing a Swiss-themed polo.

"Kobi..." she half-hissed half-muttered, "what are you doing here?"

"Um, I'm out on a business getaway with the boys, you know, team building..." he explained red-faced.

Mercy felt her face flush with blood at the sight of his face flushing, the second result of overly excited mirror neurons that night. In an instant, all her professional composure melted away. _Why here? Why now? Why this particular strip club?_  she lamented.

"Heh heh," Mercy managed to reply apprehensively.

"What... what's going on here?" the nervous patron asked, "who's he?"

"Um, this man... is my cousin."

"What are the chances? Angela, we all wondered what you were up to since Overwatch was defunded. I thought you got another job at the UN..." he rambled as he scratched the back of his neck. "It's so weird what everyone's doing for money now with the market the way it is. Zieglers though, we always survive. I got a job in sales working for Novartis. Never thought my degree would take me there. Is this your boyfriend? I didn't know this was your type of thing. Fun right?" He stuck out his hand to shake. "Hi, I'm Kobi, Angela and I are cousins!"

He continued to hold his hand out awkwardly as he innocently beamed his friendly smile.

"Kobi," Mercy stated slowly in a low threatening tone, "I'm _working_."

"You... work... here?" he said retracting his hand and pointing to the floor.

"Yes."

"So he is..?"

" _A client_ ," she finished for him.

"Kobi!" called one of the cousin's associates as he approached with beer in hand. "This is Angela? Hi, I'm Dieter. Your cousin here was telling us all about your UN appointment and humanitarian work—"

Mercy grit her teeth as the German businessman held out his free hand to shake. Kobi whispered in Dieter's ear then crossed his hands behind his back as he looked at the floor. Wide-eyed, Dieter regarded the attractive doctor propping herself up on her client mid-dance then bowed his head. "Another time then..." he muttered. He propelled himself back to his seat with his head down.

"Kobi, _go_ ," she commanded.

"If you need a job, the VP is here. I can ask if he has a position for you, you're more than qualified—"

"GEH WEG!" Mercy snapped as she planted her forehead in her palm.

"OK!" her annoying relative replied throwing his hands up.

He bumbled off. Mercy stood above her client and sighed. "Is he gone? Look over my shoulder," she commanded. He peered over. "Don't make it obvious!" she snapped.

"They're sitting... can I have my dance now?"

Angela tried to convince her young client to go to a back room but he adamantly refused on the basis of being too scared. She wound up giving him a lap dance for the length of one song before he pissed off without tipping. Every now and again during her dance, she felt the back of her neck burn and she'd catch Kobi looking at her. By the end, her and her client both looked embarrassed for each other. She was more than sure it was his first time at a strip club and someone put him up to it.

The doctor sought out her girlfriend and caught her between clients. She approached from behind and hugged her.

"This is... degrading..." Mercy complained as she rest her head on Pharah's shoulder.

"It's not so bad," Pharah shrugged, "it's actually kind of empowering..."

"What? What did you do?" said Mercy lifting her head with a worried look.

"Some guy bought a private dance. He wanted me to handcuff him and order him to eat whipped cream off my feet."

"What? That _pervert_ ," replied Mercy in disgust, "You did it?"

"Yeah, he brought the handcuffs and everything..." Pharah nonchalantly explained, "I was fine with it, he was kind of hot."

"Well, I'm not fine with it!" Mercy fumed.

"He said some very obscene things about what he wanted to do to me," she added with a blush.

Mercy pouted miserably and squeezed Pharah with a possessive hug but was given pause when they both noticed they were being hungrily eyeballed.

"Oh, what is it now?" Mercy muttered.

"Can I get a dance from both of you? Like at the same time?" said a customer approaching with a drunken hunch.

He took off his Ray Ban aviators and rested them on his head to scope out the two women.

Pharah turned to him and Mercy let go. The couple exchanged glances. Mercy pouted miserably at her causing Pharah to blink a few times.

"Sure," she replied flatly.

Mercy's eye twitched. What was she doing?

"Dance with each other actually," he said pulling up a seat and pointing between the two. "I want to watch."

They again glanced at each other but the customer interrupted. "Actually, I want you to dance on the blonde one," he said getting up from his seat and gesturing to Mercy.

"Make up your mind!" Mercy snapped.

"Yeah, I'll take that."

The doctor sat herself in the chair with her hands in her lap in a conservative posture. To her surprise, Pharah began to dance for her without reservation as the gentleman watched hungrily. As Pharah flicked her hair and worked her hips, in a flash, it all made sense to Mercy: Pharah the art-jock, Pharah the sports athlete, Pharah the soldier, was used to giving and taking orders, being highly visible to people and using her body for her work. This job was right up her alley.

The pervy fellow handed Mercy money to put in her girlfriend’s skimpy outfit with a grin. Again, she pouted as she was overcome with a certain alienation from her partner. Hesitantly, she folded the money and stuck it between the netting of Pharah’s outfit. Their client leaned back in his chair, his pelvis noticeably forward, resting his elbow on the arm and his chin in his hand as he watched.

He was a queer looking older fellow wearing tight red jeans and a tight white undershirt which showed off his biceps: a European heterosexual. Mercy found him and his pubey looking facial hair disturbing. Equally disturbing was his visibly growing erection.

He was a strong counterpoint to her girlfriend. Her glossy done up lips, her sleek black hair, the subtle veins in her appealing lady muscles. Mercy felt oddly masculinized by the situation as Pharah danced in her lap, wiggling her fit booty against her in a way that forced her to sit with her legs spread open. Mercy couldn’t resist feeling turned on by her.

“Here, kiss her,” he said handing Pharah 100 Euro. Mercy was brought back to the lewd reality of the moment—that this was being done for entertainment. “Go on, make out with her.”

Pharah took it and embraced her girlfriend shamelessly for the fellow before Angela could say no. Mercy blinked as their lips connected and she immediately felt a burst of stimulation shoot down her spine to her pelvis. Her hair stood on end for a moment but settled as the kiss continued and she lost herself in her partner.

Overall, her attraction to Pharah was largely physical and their relationship was mostly superficial but Pharah turned her on so much. She couldn’t resist bringing her hand up to hold Pharah’s neck as they kissed. She was the doctor's indulgence at a time in her life when she should have been thinking about marrying another professional and having kids. The idea of revealing how into Pharah she was in public, revealing that she was in actuality gay and lusting for a half-Egyptian  woman five years younger than her who could be a fitness model, was obscene. In a fit of lust, Mercy brought her lower lip and cheeks forward to kiss her more deeply, drinking her in with open mouth kisses. They kissed intimately that way for a second before Mercy suddenly exhaled and threw her hand down. She’d caught Kobi looking at her from across the room again.

“No! Nope! No!” she said getting flustered, “absolutely not!”

She stood from the chair and stormed off to the changing room.

“Angela!” Pharah called after her. She turned to the customer. “I’m sorry!”

“If you can get her back, I’ll pay you 2000 Euro for a threesome.”

“Uh, I’ll ask,” she said before bounding after her partner.

He tracked Pharah making her way to the changing room like a reptile then leaned up and lowered his sunglasses. He’d gotten his fill. For now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night gets weirder...

Tracer, now Ricochet the punkrock stripper, sweatily parked herself on a barstool.

"Oi, can I get a drink to freshen up?"

"Sure thing, hun," the punky bartender replied. Tracer took the opportunity to eye her dark inky back and sleeve tattoos as her appealing arms worked the bar. Queer fireworks went off in her mind but she decided to not to have the subtly of a basset hound and to instead distract herself with the action of the club. Quickly, she lost herself looking at the half-naked dancers. "Here you go, its on the house," said the bartender in her creaky voice.

Tracer turned back towards the bar.

"Oooh ho ho," she laughed nervously as she caught the bartender wink at her. She calmed herself and thirstily gulped down the drink. "Oi! It's alcohol!" she said with a cough, regarding the bottom of the glass. "Strong too..." she added, waving her hand to fan herself.

The bartender gave an amused humph at how gay Tracer was and returned to minding the bar. "I make it for all the new dancers."

"Ricochet!" called the manager, "we got a bachelorette party, I want you in the champagne room!"

Tracer raised her hand at her to show that she got the message. "OK!" she replied in sing-song.

To her surprise, another drink was plopped down next to her.

"What's this?"

"The champagne room is where high paying patrons go for extra privacy," explained the bartender solemnly, "so, I made that extra strong for you."

"Um, oh dear," Tracer muttered.

"Good luck..."

* * *

_The Champagne Room, The Aristocrat Lounge_

"Hey, _sirenita_ ," greeted Sombra to Tracer's surprise as she entered the room.

"Y-you're going to be in here with me?" uttered Tracer pointing at Sombra apprehensively.

She stood leaning on the wall with her arms folded. The dim red lighting in the room, meant to promote all manner of debaucherous behavior and make the most mediocre human look like a pornstar, was deeply flattering to her skin. Tracer couldn't help but feel some kind of attraction to the villainous hacker.

Tracer's eyes panned the room. The party room wasn't lavishly furnished but was nicely adorned with accoutrements to aid the dancers in their hustle: low couches hugging the walls, some sturdy knee-high coffee tables (on which many bodyshots among other things had been done) and a dancing pole in the middle. Low bassy music controlled by the party guests played inside separately from the club lending an almost ominous ambience to the room from the dueling bass lines. A bouncer stood outside guarding the entrance but, notably, was unable to see what was going on inside to stop any shenanigans.

The pilot turned stripper refocused her increasingly inebriated eyes back on Sombra noticing she was wearing a sly grin. Behind her was a gaggle of drunken basic-looking girls between the ages of 28 and 35, gossiping and joking among themselves. A few of them, the homely and nice looking ones, sported engagement rings and wedding bands while the single girls had an air of viciousness about them. Tracer openly wondered who's idea this was. She caught the girls sneaking glimpses of them before hastily retreating back to their lady friends.

"You sound nervous, _pobricita_ ," Sombra replied cocking her head, "you're not nervous are you?"

"I'm not afraid of you, Sombra. I don't care what you know!" said Tracer in a low tone, trying to assert herself.

Sombra humphed and stepped close, filling her vision with her face. "Every time you try and stop me, I get my way with you, _taradita_ ," she said running her claw along her cheek, "even you've got to see the pattern some time."

"You catch me while I'm weak," snapped Tracer, gritting her teeth as she threw off Sombra's hand, "well, today I'm not weak."

The hacker raised her eyebrows at her, noticing that she was almost shaking with rage and determination. "Isn't that interesting? But it looks like we have a job to, yeah? Hope I don't make you uncomfortable..."

At that moment, Tracer noticed one of the bachelorettes behind Sombra's shoulder.

"Are you the girls?" she asked with a kind of fan-girly enthusiasm. She'd clasped her hands and hunched over, looking up at them like a child. "You're so pretty! I mean beautiful! I mean hot... Can I touch you?"

She was a normal but not unattractive looking girl with brown hair and brown eyes in her late twenties who'd stuffed herself in a tight dress and done herself up for the evening occasion. She regarded them with sparkling eyes.

"Heh, heh, sure thing, luv," said Tracer pulling herself out of her confrontation with Sombra.

The girl drunkenly hugged her around the waist causing Tracer to lift her arms to accommodate her. "I love girls, they're so squishy and soft..."

Tracer giggled apprehensively. "You're _very_ drunk, luv..." Her eyes popped when she realized all the geese were looking at them.

"Not very smart, _taradita_. The goal is to make money..." said Sombra into Tracer's ear as she sauntered to her side. A confusing whiff of Sombra's pheromones from her exertion during her performance passed over her and she was again feeling very gay and conflicted. Sombra leaned down to the clinging woman's face and touched under her chin with her index finger to get her attention. "Hey," Sombra said rudely to her. The woman's inebriated eyes opened and immediately met Sombra's calculating gaze. "I'll do whatever you want me to do to her, you just have to pay."

"Um..." muttered Tracer, raising a finger in objection.

Sombra stood. "That goes for all of you," she announced to the bachelorettes, "The rules are: there are no rules. We'll do anything you want, to you, to each other, whatever. You can ask for anything as long as you pay. I have a few ideas if you're shy..."

Enlivened hubbub and banter broke out among the giddy straight girls as their inhibitions dropped and their repressed lesbian fantasies bubbled to the surface. They snorted and laughed at each other as they thought of everything they could do.

"Wow..." the girl hugging Tracer muttered with a swallow.

Sombra chuckled at Tracer. "Ah man, I hate this job but there's no reason _we_ can't have fun," she said cockily as she put her arm around Tracer's waist and walked her towards the girls.

Tracer witnessed one of the bachelorettes excitedly whispering into another's ear. The listening girl's eyes went wide as she turned to her friend saying, " _No way!_ That's disgusting!" Her pervy friend nodded slowly and cattily reached for her clutch to pull out a wad of money.

Sombra raised her eyebrows at Tracer with a malicious smile. "Get ready for a wild ride, Ricochet..."

* * *

_Approximately 1 hour later..._

Tracer burst red-faced into the changing room with an absurd expression. She was involuntarily smiling with tears in her eyes, her face twisted into a weird happy depression. Mercy was sitting at the makeup counter with her face in her hands as Pharah tried to console her.

"My God, I hate her!" Tracer exclaimed, finishing her drink and angrily slamming it on the counter, "I fucking hate her guts!"

"What, Lena? Who?" asked Mercy, pulling herself out of her emotions to focus on her.

Tracer stood topless with her back to the mirror, resting her hands on the counter. Mercy noticed she was sweaty and her chest was noticeably flush. With an impatient roll of her fingertips on the counter she spoke. "It's Sombra, that sleazy nob. I don't get it, luv, why do I let her do this every sodding time?" she complained in her sing-song voice.

"What happened?" Mercy asked with concern.

"What happened, luv? I'll tell you what. I let her fuck and dom me on a table for money while a bunch of straight girls watched and gossiped about it that's what!"

The doctor stared at her aghast. " _Lena..?_ What? She's a Talon agent!" she said sounding quite horrified.

"An' now I want t'marry her or _something_ , luv!" she replied with an aggressive sniff, "I mean, it wasn't bad. I _wanted_ to do it and she is good, like really good but she's mean, evil! She _really_ got her yucks this time." Tracer held her arms and looked pensively at the door. "Ugh _,_ I'm a wreck, my life is going nowhere. Emily left me, I can't go anywhere or do anything without being within 10 feet of that stupid glowing thing," she lamented, pointing at her chronal accelerator resting at the end of the counter. "Talon, Overwatch, she's right, luv. What's the difference? We're both terrorists at the end of the day. What are we still going on about for? The world hates us."

"Mein Got, Lena. Pull yourself together! That's irrational nonsense, we're trying to save our friend!"

"Ugh, she's so _manipulative!_ " Tracer interrupted, gripping the air in outrage, "she cocking incepted the idea right into their thick little heads and made 'em think it was their own! The worst part is that _slag_ , that human trash, is so good at sex I actually enjoyed it. I just wanna crawl into a hole and die, luvs. I'm not going out there as long as that _cunting witch_ is about ever again!"

Tracer shivered when she remembered Sombra's tongue and broke her stare on the door. She looked towards her friends for comfort when she noticed Mercy's running mascara. "Oi, you lot look like you've been through the ringer too. What's happened out there?"

Mercy flippantly gestured to the door. "My cousin Kobi is here."

"What? No way! How embarrassing!" Tracer laughed. She covered her mouth when she realized she'd accidentally just been deeply hurtful. "Oops, sorry, luv."

Mercy glared at her then looked forward as she continued to explain. "He's out there with the business development team from Novartis. He brought the VP over... I met with him a few months ago to discuss a solution to averting a second avian flu crisis. You know, _at my real job._ "

Pharah gently gripped Mercy's hand more tightly to try and be supportive.

"Ugh! My cousin! _That bassoon playing idiot!_ Can't his company just take him to a football game instead?! And my God, my entrance, did you hear it?" She stamped her foot. " _I sound so cringy and basic_. I have a Phd in biology, I'm a doctor of osteopathic medicine, never mind that I'm the damn Director-General of the WHO and yet there I am parading around in angel wings and a lifeguard outfit... I'm ruined."

"You're not ruined, Angela..." said Pharah softly.

Mercy held the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger as she fluttered her eyelids at the ceiling. It was all too embarrassing to manage.

"Pharah, my love, I don't think you understand what this means for me, in my world."

"What? What don't you think I understand?"

"You don't seem to _get_ what makes me _uncomfortable_ or how this _compromises_ me professionally," Mercy explained in a patronizing tone, "you're open to any and everything..."

Pharah retracted her hand with an angry pout. Her partner was referring to the threesome proposal. Tracer blinked as she suddenly realized that she'd barged in in the midst of an argument.

"Well, _I_ could sure use a pick-me-up," she said, finally breaking the silence. She pulled a wrinkled plastic baggy from her boyshorts and carefully tapped out the contents into a line on the stripclub's regulation scratched up coke mirror. "You lot should hit the bar, the dancers drink free, I think the bartender rather likes me..."

Angela and Pharah stared at her aghast as she insuflated the line through a rolled up euro without reservation and even an expertise that implied significant experience.

She lifted her head as a light euphoria hit her. "Whew!"

"Lena! What are you doing?!" Mercy exclaimed, "where did you get that?"

"Who? Me?" she said between sniffs, "that DJ bloke took a liking to me too. Really helps with the work and we've got a few more _hours_ left, luv."

"Mien Got, I'm shutting this down," muttered Mercy as she got up and reached for her jacket, "I'll call Jack to send an Orca and a Helix strike team to extract Amelie by force. I can't handle this-"

Suddenly, the room chilled when they heard the door close. The agents had been too self-involved to hear Amy enter. Cringing, their heads collectively turned towards the door.

"To extract... Amelie... by force? You mean me?" murmured Amy sounding utterly terrified, " _I'm_ the woman you think is Amelie..."

The agents exchanged fearful rapid glances as they realized they may have just fucked up their mission entirely.

"Oh no, dear, no that's completely wrong..." Mercy fumbled.

Amy backed towards the door apprehensively.

"No, no its not. I heard you perfectly, I can hear everything. Every conversation in this building. My hearing is good, _too good_ and its been driving me insane! I hear them and I know almost exactly where they are, even what they're feeling, if they're afraid... _especially_ if they're afraid," said Amy with growing panic in her voice. "No no no," the dancer muttered as she lowered herself to the floor. Again the agents traded nervy glances. "I'm not Amelie... its not me... that didn't happen. Its not possible to hear that well its just my imagination..."

Amy held her shoulders and grimaced for a long moment until she calmly arose and stepped to the mirror, her composure completely regained.

"I hope I get to relax with you all tonight..." she said casually adjusting her makeup.

Mercy took her smart phone out of her jacket and rapidly typed something. She held the phone up to Pharah and then Tracer's face.

_She can reprogram herself(?)_

Tracer wiped her nose then took the phone in both hands, typing nervously. She showed it to Mercy.

_What if she's just repressing it?_

"I had a strange experience today, out there, an Italian man wanted me to choke him in a private room. He said he wanted to be choked within an inch of his life," Amy recounted calmly, "Sombra told me to do it so I did, just without thinking. I realized two things. One, I speak Italian. Two, I almost felt something when I did it... a rush of life. It makes me wonder if I should go about choking people, only if they'd let me, of course."

Tracer shot a panicked look at Mercy. She was absolutely sure they were thinking the same thing but she tapped out her message anyways and passed her the phone.

_She's sounding more and more like Widowmaker!!!_

The doctor nodded ardently then frantically typed. Pharah gave an incensed shrug, feeling left out of the loop.

"Maybe I'm in the right line of work then, when an adventurous client comes forward I can learn something new about myself. Really, though, I just want to dance..." she said wistfully. She quietly chuckled in amusement as she put away her makeup brush. "Why dance? I suppose its supposed to be attractive to men. But I'm afraid, somehow, if I attracted someone I truly loved, I'd be the death of them. Like Artemis... My real question is, when on Earth did I learn Italian?" 

With a hair flick, Amy approached Tracer. "I learned something else, would you like to know?"

Tracer cleared her throat as Mercy gave her a curious look then backspaced her message. "Um, sure thing, luv."

"I'm quite good at aiming..." The agent's collectively felt a lump of fear drop from their throats to their stomachs. "I learned playing a video game with an American. But what shall I do with that? Buy a gun? Hunting is a disgusting hobby. What a useless talent."

"Yeah, its for a bunch of rich perverts," Lena adamantly concurred, trying to promote this line of reasoning, "they can fuck right off!"

"Ricochet, Mercy..." said Amy, ignoring her and suddenly sounding concerned, "you've been crying."

"Ah, its nothing, luv. Just a rough first day."

"Can I give you a hug? A lot of girls cry here and they all hug and touch each other, being supportive. Not me though because I'm-"

"No need to explain, luv," Tracer interrupted.

Amy glided over to her with her graceful otherworldly steps and embraced her in her cool arms. Tracer felt the heat suck right out of her bare chest on contact with Amy's skin but she returned the hug. Amy took a relaxed breath as it was reciprocated. Mercy held the phone over Amy's shoulder for Tracer to read.

_She's split. She has Widowmaker's instincts and programming but she's resisting it. There's something she's resisting about Amelie too  
_

"Can I hug you too, Mercy?"

"Of course," she replied, giving a forced friendly smile.

She discretely passed the phone to Tracer. She took it and began typing after a quick shiver from the coke continuing to hit her brain. They hugged and Tracer held the phone over Amy's shoulder.

_Whatever the case. Sombra's got to go. We'll take care of the brat tonight._


	12. Chapter 12

Pharah exhaled in frustration as she watched her girlfriend hug the beautiful blue stripper. She turned her head away resentfully causing her jewelry to jingle. Suddenly, she hated her outfit as it occurred to her she'd really screwed up this time.

"Hey! Hey! HEY!" called the manager, flailing her arms as she entered the changing room, "what does it take to keep you girls on the floor?! Scarlett, Daisy and Mercedes are the ones making all the money! Even Sombra's doing her job!" Amy withdrew herself from Mercy with a sigh and silently traipsed past her frustrated manager to the floor. The rail thin old woman turned to the agents, noticing they were looking melancholic and strung-out. "New girls, buck up and move out! Talk to Rosco if you need a boost, I don't care! Either way its coming out of your paycheck!"

"Madame," interrupted Mercy with an insidious eyebrow raise, "we need a few moments, we're discussing your _hacker_ problem."

"You've got five. Spend three freshening up," she said brusquely then shut the door. She opened it again. "Ricochet, word of advice, with breasts your size, keep the jacket on and get them to _pay_ to take it off. Your boobs are an idea."

"Piss off ya' soppy cunt," Tracer cursed, flashing her the middle finger.

The manager slammed the door shut. Tracer regarded her freckled chest and squeezed her shoulders together to make her breasts look larger. "This line of work is hell on your esteem, innit?"

"Try being told you have mom arms," said Mercy as she stood and approached the mirror to fix her running makeup. "So, taking Sombra out of the picture, obviously I object to violence."

"Not sure what other option we have, Dr. Ziegler-"

"My mom," interjected Pharah in a childish voice. She shook her head. "I mean, my mother," she said taking a normal tone.

Mercy raised her eyebrow at her as Pharah continued to stare off into the corner. "That just might work..."

Ana lay in bed in her pajamas knitting and watching the news in their little hotel room at the other agent's insistence. She'd wanted to camp out in front of the Aristocrat Lounge with her rifle ready. Instead, being assured that wasn't necessary, she'd spent the day out and about in Amsterdam being a touristy eccentric old woman. She went to the Muslim quarter to look for a conversation in Egyptian Arabic and managed to flirt with some people she considered "nice young men." In the evening, she returned to the hotel spa to relax. Now she was eagerly awaiting her duckling's return from their first day at work with her earpiece on her nightstand.

"Ana, come in... come in, Ana..." Mercy's voice crackled over the com.

She snapped to and picked up the piece. "I read you."

"We need you in position over the club."

"Ah, so _now_ you want me there," she replied in a snide tone, "I'll just be a moment, this old woman wasn't expecting to have to get out of bed..."

She arose and opened her militarized weapon case. Inside were her biotic rifle and tactical mask. The eerie black mask gazed back at her. It was the face of her alternate identity "Shrike," the sectarian rebel and wanted terrorist. Ana was happy to involve herself in Overwatch nonsense rather than the morbid politics of opposing Egypt's increasingly authoritarian regime and its quest to privatize everything at the people's expense.

"She's on her way," announced Mercy, removing the com piece from her ear with a sigh, "we'll have to get Sombra into an open area so Ana can tranquilize her. I doubt it will be easy..."

* * *

"Oh man, I love my job," cackled Sombra as she lifted her finger from her com piece. She'd intercepted their signal and overheard everything from the club's grimy men's bathroom. "Ay, Dios mio, I'm too powerful, someone end me," she said running her hand through her pink mohawk in excitement.

"That can be arranged," Gabriel's voice suddenly intruded over the com. "All that information piped to your head's made you arrogant and narcissistic."

Sombra frowned. "Oh hey, Gabe. It's so nice of you to always chime in uninvited over my com frequency."

"Command thought it was fitting since you kept deciding not to respond..." he growled. "Speaking of your incompetence, there's an update from R&D. Command took a special interest in your assignment and decided to upgrade its priority status."

"Oh yeah? Well, I'm flattered."

Gabriel chuckled. "You'll love this. Your mission was deemed critical and is now a joint operation with the Research Directorate."

"What the hell does that mean, Gabe? I'm incredibly busy."

"You're getting a second handler. She's a science officer, Moira O'Deorain." Gabe deliberately let the words slough off his tongue in mind to irritate Sombra as much as possible.

Her eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I've heard of her..."

"I heard you had some history with her," said Gabe with palpable smugness.

"I hate the bitch, I'd kill her if I thought I could get away with it."

"I'll remind you that your communications are monitored, Sombra," came Moira's proud commanding voice in her Irish accent.

Sombra looked at the ceiling and silently cursed. "That's _very_ interesting, _amiga,_ " she said, returning to the conversation, "Just like I find your directorate's remarkable overreach _very interesting_."

"As if a mission where you thought undressing for money was suitable cover were not _interesting_ to us. Your competence and qualifications, your judgment in particular are a consistent topic of debate among our operatives."

"Hey! Hurry up in there, I have to take shit, yeah?" bellowed a drunk patron in a nondescript Eastern European accent as he pounded on the stall door.

" _Esta canon, pendejo!_ I'm busy!" Sombra snapped.

"You have less than an hour before the drone arrives at the target area, I'm _en route_ by Predator to personally handle the reprogramming process," Moira asserted, "She's _my_ creation. I'm not trusting her entire resocialization to the likes of you."

Sombra cocked her head to the side impatiently. "Look, _perra._ I have four Overwatch agents in my lap. Q directorate wants them captured. As far as I'm concerned, Widowmaker is a target of opportunity. It would be _nice_ to get her back. So, I'm going to use _your_ weapon to get my agents and reprogram Widowmaker in one fell swoop. Then I get a fat check and you can suck my dick."

"Stupid girl. Since when does F directorate have the purview to act in the name of Q directorate?"

"I dunno, since I became the entire SID at Talon," Sombra replied snarkily.

Sombra overheard the noisy fellow complain to the staff outside, "there's a girl in there, she's not coming out..."

"Both of you just shut up, for the love of Christ," Gabriel barked, "no one cares about directives or directorates, Sombra. Just follow orders and _do your job_.... DO YOU COPY?"

Suddenly, the bathroom door violently burst open. Tracer and Pharah stormed in and kicked down the stall door in a fit, breaking the door off its hinges.

"What the—?" the latina hacker uttered, recoiling in surprise. "What's going on _amigas_?" she asked nervously when she saw the violence in their eyes.

At once, Pharah decked Sombra in the head then grabbed her by her mohawk and slammed her face against the stall. She stumbled backwards and collapsed in the corner next to the toilet with one arm resting on the bowl. She shook her head and gazed up at the pair bleary eyed from the sudden trauma to her head.

"Hey, that was pretty good," Sombra muttered with a masochistic smile, "but I don't think the doctor would approve."

"In case you hadn't noticed," replied Tracer in a mocking tone she'd acquired in primary school, "she's not here, ya git."

Sombra chuckled as she raised herself up from the corner. Her earpiece was abuzz with Gabe and Moira trying to get her to check in. She took the annoying thing out and dropped it in the toilet.

"You're quite the thug, Lena Oxton. I always knew you were," said Sombra in a bullyish tone, "you're like me."  


"Haven't had to break it out for the likes a' someone like you in a long time."

"Her Majesty's Young Offender..." Sombra laughed cruelly, "you learn a thing or two in an all-female YOI, if you know what I mean. That's why you like it rough."

She flicked her obscene tongue at her. Tracer growled as she took Sombra by the hair and smashed her face on the toilet seat. Sombra stumbled and again collapsed in the corner in a fit of maniacal laughter.

"Oi, she gets off on being a villain!" Tracer mumbled in disbelief.

Sombra wiped some blood off her brow, regarding it briefly before looking up at Pharah with fiery eyes. She cocked her head to the side lazily. "How about you, _amiga?_  Bet it eats a jarhead like you alive that you lost all those men. How's your mother by the way? Any sign of your dad? Half Egyptian half Native American. Bet you're crazy being all mixed up like that?"

"Don't listen," said Tracer, watching Sombra's words give Pharah pause, "she's _sick_."

Sombra again broke into hysterical fits of laughter. "When I need a laugh, I listen to your phone sex with Angela," she said wiping aside tears of laughter, "Long distance relationships are tough, right? Too bad she's a fucking prude."  


To Pharah's disbelief the hacker summoned an audio file of her and Mercy talking to each other as they mutually masturbated over the phone in her hand. It was so traumatically obscene that she kicked her in the chin, knocking her out immediately. Sombra's body went limp. The holographic speaker icon projected in her hand flickered out and the audio disappeared. The two agents eyed each other in disbelief. The monster had been felled.

* * *

They hauled the unconscious hacker's body out of the bathroom passing the desperate patron waiting to use the toilet.

"Is free?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tracer replied curtly, trying to blow him off.

He bumbled in and bore witness to the destruction that had taken place. As he turned around to ask the agents what had transpired, Tracer closed the door in his face.

"Let's move," she said, nodding to Pharah.

They hauled Sombra past the bouncers, who averted their gaze. Angela had decided it was best to beat Sombra at her own game and pay off the guards courtesy of the United Nations.

"Look, it'll work out with you and Angela," Tracer reassured as she struggled to help carry Sombra's limp body, "Ah, maybe I better let you take care of this." The diminutive pilot got out from under Sombra's unconscious body and let Pharah take on the whole weight. "Like I was saying, phone sex really isn't the way to go if you have trouble being creative, Pharah. Video-chat is the proper way. Light some candles, oil yourself up and all that. I know I'd go in a second if I saw you having a go at yourself."

Pharah sighed. "I don't know, Lena. I just feel stupid around her, she's so busy and... it feels like... all this talk about being exotic since we got here. When we're together I hang around naked, I fetch her things, I make food for her, we cuddle and then she goes to work and I stay home. I mean, she's European. Is that how she thinks of me? Is that why she's embarrassed?"

Tracer was given pause as she suddenly felt herself come down on her coke. "Oi, that's a tough one, luv..."

"I don't know if I've ever talked to her about why she likes me or if she sees us being together for any amount of time..."

"Hold up! She's out there," said Tracer. "We'll talk soon, luv, OK?"

Tracer smiled at her in a way that she hoped expressed solidarity and awkwardly found a place to pat her shoulder. The couple clearly had baggage to work through...

She opened the door to see Angela smoking in the alleyway wearing her long jacket over her lifeguard swim suit. The doctor's hair looked matted with sweat while her face was flush-red from dancing.  


"Dr. Ziegler!"

"Oh what? This? I'm quite stressed. Mercedes let me bum one," she said casually. She took a final drag then stamped it out and approached Sombra. "Sombra, yoohoo!" she said slapping her face.

She snorted to.

"What? Dr. Ziegler!" shouted Sombra with surprise.

"Now!"

A dart rocketed into Sombra's arm and she was immediately put back to sleep. As soon as she felt Sombra become a dead weight, Pharah dropped the obscene hacker in the alleyway and she slumped in the garbage. The doctor gave the thumbs up in Ana’s direction. Pharah and Tracer were barely able to notice her until a hunched figure on a nearby rooftop stood and returned it.

She took off the mask.

"Pharah, what are you wearing, dear? Are you cold?" she called down.

"I'm fine, mother!" Pharah replied folding her arms.  


"Good riddance," muttered Tracer in disdain.

"Lets get back to work ladies..." said Mercy solemnly, "if we poop out we'll lose Amelie and we’re kaput."

"Righto..." Tracer said with a haphazard salute.


	13. Chapter 13

Sombra awoke when she felt a chill. She shivered and winced then tried to open her eyes. To her dismay, her left eye was bruised shut. She rubbed her head as she heard the chittering of a rat's feet on the concrete against the backdrop of Rosco's 4/4 beat thumping in the club.

" _Irse a la chingada!_ " she cursed kicking the creature away.

She shivered again as she felt the wind pick up. Black wispy smoke began to materialize in front of her.

"Gabe?" Sombra called nervously.

"In the garbage, right where you belong," came an enigmatic voice as the smoke materialized into a slender androgynous woman, "I see you're flying your Los Muertos colors as well."

Sombra tracked the elfin looking woman like an irritated cat as she approached.

"Yeah," Sombra said then spit, "why don't you come down here and join me, Moira?"

The figure paused. "Its wet... I'm not fond of water," she replied coolly.

"Figures, you witch."

The robed figure humphed.

"Not very wise of you to drop your communications equipment in the toilet, they're quite expensive. T directorate will be having a word with you."

Moira stood tall over her for a moment as if to establish her superiority then knelt down and placed a new communicator in her ear. They glared at each other face to face in a hostile exchange. Finally, Moira exhaled and took Sombra's cheeks in her hand to regard her injuries. As Sombra felt herself be handled by the maligned doctor's hand with its absurdly long nails she thought to herself that this is what it must feel like.

"What's your problem with me, Sombra?"

"How about you spray me with that biotic juice in your sleeve and I'll tell you?" she replied with palpable hostility.

Moira pulled back her sleeve and pressed her hand against Sombra's neck. In an instant she felt the biotics flowing through her bloodstream. Sombra’s bruises and injuries disappeared in mere moments as she glared at Moira in the inhospitable silence.

"Well then, lets hear it."

"I lied," Sombra replied flatly.

Moira chuckled and pat Sombra's cheek with false affection.

"I took a read on your biometrics. You're quite healthy. Actually, I should rather say you're quite _resilient_ considering the way you treat yourself. You have good genes, Sombra. Have you considered having a child?"

Sombra spit. "I'm not putting another drug addicted bipolar nymphomaniac into the world," she replied bitterly.

"That has less to do with your genes than you think. Talon's plans for world domination are in their final stages, we're on the verge of a new society so we can save humanity from all _this_ ," she said gesturing to the strip club and the ugly alleyway, "The next generation of Talon will be born and raised inside the organization. Its a privilege people born with a uterus might have. That's rather significant don't you think?"

"Huh," replied Sombra indifferently.

Moira suddenly gripped Sombra's face harshly. "I can tell you why _I_ don't like you," she said gritting her teeth, "you're a chancer, an anarchist punk with no vision, no sense of purpose or will, you'd run Talon into the ground for your own benefit if you had the chance."

Sombra wrested her face from Moira's grip then lolled her head to the side. "Ah, I see, maybe that's why you want me to have a kid, _amiga_ ," she replied wagging her finger at her, "so I'm too distracted to mess up your plans. Unless, maybe you're just jealous."

The frail redheaded woman hauled Sombra up with surprising strength as the hacker laughed cruelly. " _Mallacht na baintri ort!_ " cursed Moira as she shook her. Sombra grinned and deliberately looked off in the direction the sleep dart struck her from. "Pay attention!" Moira said forcefully turning Sombra's face towards hers, " _get me my creation back_. I'm not letting that blonde bimbo undo my work. Here's the drug. Now do it or you'll end up in my laboratory's bio-waste dump. Contact me immediately as soon as she's dosed. Understood?"

Sombra smiled and nodded albeit with a rebellious look in her eyes.

"Grand," said Moira darkly.

She placed an eerie black canister in the hacker's hand then collapsed into a cloud of otherworldly smoke and was gone as quick as she came. Sombra humphed and pulled the sleep dart out of her arm. An argument was brewing near the alleyway door. The hacker could tell from the voices it involved Tracer. She nonchalantly pressed on her new earpiece.

"Hear that, Gabe? I've got good genes," she chuckled as she swaggered to the door, "you're sure there's no conflict of interest here?"

Gabriel growled as he was forced to admit that Sombra was right, the operation was becoming a fiasco. Moira's silence over the com was deafening. Sombra gave a shady humph and closed the line. She threw open the door to find Tracer arguing with one of the bachlorettes.

"I swear luv, I don't know where it is! If I had it I'd give it to you right away, luv! Promise!"

"You lying slut! I can't believe you!" the woman cursed as a bouncer restrained her arms. The woman was in a fighting mood.

"Hey," said Sombra, nodding to the bouncer from over Tracer’s shoulder, "what's the problem?"

Tracer's eye twitched as she fearfully realized Sombra was back in action. At that moment, Ana's voice crackled in over her com. "There's another Talon operative here..."

"Girl says she stole her wedding ring."

"Huh," Sombra replied nonchalantly. She reached into her underwear and dug around a little as she looked up and bit her tongue in concentration. "Here you go, thought I felt something up there," she said, somehow removing the ring from her panties.

She handed the bewildered woman the ring. The bouncer let go of her arms and she apprehensively received it, delicately gripping it between her thumb and index finger. "Word of advice, you don't have to go so deep, _mija_. You know, next time your husband lets you finger bang a pair of strippers. Or maybe he doesn't know where you are..."

The woman left with an outraged flare of her nostrils and was gone. Tracer hunched her back and tried to huddle away but Sombra caught her. "Wait, wait, wait, _amiga_ ," Sombra chuckled bullyishly as she reached over her shoulders and drew her close, "lets go in together, work's almost done, we should all leave _together_."


	14. Chapter 14

"I haven't had my ass kicked like that in a long time," mused Sombra as she walked Tracer into the club, "its kind of a turn on, I didn't know you had it in you. Now that Overwatch is done, have you thought of joining Talon? You'd get to be with your pal Amelie and we could put all this aside."

"You ruined her, she used to be a kind gentle person, a beautiful dancer-"

"She was a pointless aspirational socialite, a ballerina who used her body to seduce a wealthy husband," Sombra explained callously, "I _know_ this for a fact, _mija_."

"You brainwashed her, made her into a weapon."

"I don't really know what Talon did to her," Sombra admitted, "but from what I know about Amelie, they didn't add anything that wasn't already there..." Tracer tried to break away but Sombra drew her back close. "You don't even know what you're fighting for, the person you think you're trying to save. So she's blue now and we rearranged her pleasures. So what?" asked Sombra adopting a reasonable tone as she gestured to Amy dancing on the pole.

"Oi, you smell like garbage," muttered Tracer as she twisted herself away.

Sombra caught Pharah's glance and decided it was best to let Tracer go. Pharah silently got Mercy's attention and gestured towards the hacker as they entertained their clients. Sombra fanned her fingers towards them with a cheeky smile as she watched their stomach's sink with perverse glee.

Suddenly, the strip-joint manager filled her view.

"Sombra, you look like piss and shit," she said. The hacker felt her blood pressure rise from some innate anti-authoritarian instinct. "I'm not gaslighting you, you smell like wet garbage. Just clean up and help us close."

"Right away," she muttered.

* * *

"I hate that new girl, Sombra," said Mercedes as she packed up her things, "her Spanish sounds like vomiting and she makes me uncomfortable. She's making clients think its OK to touch the girls. Ugh, she could at least speak Spain Spanish."

The strippers turned their heads towards Sombra as she emerged from the shower and stepped into the changing room. Mercedes immediately averted her eyes as Sombra dried her hair with a towel.

"Wow, but what do you really think?" she said shadily. Sombra dried herself off and put on her bra and panties in the awkward silence as the girls changed into their civilian clothes. The tension broiled but it seemed she was going to let the comment pass. To the room's dismay, however, Sombra suddenly accosted Mercedes, standing over her and gripping a fistful of her hair as she whispered into her ear in a low guttural sounding Spanish. Pharah stood to confront her as Amy watched Sombra manhandle the Spanish girl with a devious smile.

"¿ _De_   _verdad_ _crees que eres mejor que_ _yo_?"

The poor girl responded with a timid "no" to each of her questions before Sombra detected Pharah's menacing presence and wrenched her head back down. Pharah glared at Sombra as she seated herself indifferently and finished dressing. Mercedes packed up with glassy eyes as the other overworked girls minded their business and hurried out the second she was finished. Whatever the case, nearly everyone was intimidated by Sombra.

"For the rest of you, us new girls and Blue are having a little get together, want to come?" Sombra asked with false sweetness, "you can tell Mercedes she's invited too."

Daisy regarded Sombra with infatuated eyes as she dressed. In a way that was in no small part related to her daddy fetish, she was weirdly into her, she seemed so threatening and unrestrained. "Well, I'm down," she purred with a grin.

"I'll go with ya, Daisy," said Scarlet adopting an air of responsibility, "to keep you out of trouble. Let me talk to Mercedes..."

"Ew, I don't need a chaperone," Daisy snapped back.

"Yes ya do, luv," replied Scarlet as she went after Mercedes. She popped her head back in after she stepped out, "speaking of which, anyone seen Ricochet?" The strippers shook their heads 'no.' "Ah, I'll be on the lookout then..."

Sombra sighed and approached Pharah and Mercy, eying them like prey as Daisy redosed by helping herself to another line of coke.

"I haven't really gotten to you two yet..." she said in an almost business-like manner, "I somehow think by the end of the night we'll all understand each other a little better."

Pharah glared at the hacker, knowing full well she could take her easily. Sombra turned her eyes to Mercy who simply tried to gaze past her as if she wasn't there. The doctor was clearly perturbed her plan didn't work. Now she had to listen to the hacker's obscene rambling.

"Ah, Mama Mercy, you're quite a number. I was especially into your little tattoo. Where did you get that?"

"Ugh, shut up," Mercy replied flatly.

"I made it," blurted Pharah, "I did the tattoo."

Sombra wrinkled her nose as if she were offended by Pharah's remark. "What? Like I care," she said blowing her off. "Where is everyone? I want to move!"

"Found her!" announced Scarlet as she returned with her friends in tow.

Tracer waltzed in wrapped in the arms of the Aristocrat's goth-punk bartender looking quite piqued followed by an angry looking Mercedes.

"Yes! We're all here!" announced Sombra maniacally, "Lets move!"

* * *

The off-duty strippers stood outside an ATM in the fall air as Sombra fiddled with it on her haptic keyboard. Tracer and the bartender, meanwhile, made out with bedroom eyes while Mercy and Pharah stayed close but not too close. Sombra kept track of a hunched figure moving along side them on the rooftops, fully aware of their presence. Every now and again she glanced in the figure's direction to force the sniper to move in a game of cat and mouse.

"Ana, did you get a visual on the other agent?" Mercy whispered as she pressed on her com piece. She stood with her chin pressed on her shoulder and one arm folded, trying to discretely make the call.

"It looked like Moira O'Deorian, your former colleague. I'm sure it's her, dear."

" _Shiesse_!" Mercy quietly cursed to herself.

"Don't worry, I'm watching your backs... ah, your friend just saw me, I'm repositioning..."

Mercy threw her hand down in frustration and cast a glance at Amy. She stood in a ballet pose, looking blissfully unaware she was the center of a conspiracy that had summoned the world's most dangerous scientist and hacker. Pharah, seeing her partner was distraught, took her hand and rested her head on her shoulder. 

"How long's this gonna take?" asked Scarlet, catching the couple out of the corner of her eye.

"Less than 8 seconds," Sombra replied.

As the words left Sombra's mouth the machine sputtered mechanically as its circuits were overridden and began to dispense its entire contents of large bills as fast as it could.

"Too easy," she chuckled as the machine gave up the goods.

She doled out the money to each of the strippers with a smug grin. Mercy held up her hand to refuse but Sombra took her hand and forced the money into it.

"Just take it," she muttered bitterly.

Sombra passed to Mercedes and placed the money in her hand with confrontational eyes. Amy took the money with aloof indifference, her thoughts were elsewhere.

"Wow, Sombra, you're so cool," exclaimed Daisy sarcastically.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Sombra replied taking a purposefully arrogant tone, "now we buy all the alcohol we want."

"Frick yes!" shouted Daisy.

They moved on to a liquor store. Sombra shepherded them inside then disappeared into an alleyway to figure out the canister. She regarded it curiously for a few moments, tapping and prodding it to get a sense of its design and function. Eventually she gave up and pressed on her earpiece.

"Hey, what the hell is this?" she asked, shaking the canister, "Its a blobject, how am I supposed to use this thing?"

Suddenly, the canister rudely ejaculated a little spray from the top and Sombra went white from dread. She'd smelt the ozone from the chemical emission. At that exact moment, the strippers piled out of the store laughing and joking as they carried large paper bags filled with all manner of alcohol.

"Sombra, I copy," said Gabriel over her com, "Listen, before I tell you the delivery mechanism, R&D says it is imperative that _you do not play_ with the canister..."

She tuned out Gabriel's words and hid the canister as the happy strippers approached in the midst of drunken banter.

"Hey, Sombra! Where'd you go?" shouted Daisy.

"Just taking a call," she replied innocently.

The Overwatch agents cringed. The sound of anything vaguely genuine sounding coming out of the hacker's mouth was to be immediately distrusted.

The stripper noticed Sombra had lost her color. "Hey, are you OK? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sombra replied in a subdued tone. She cleared her throat and tried to regain her confident composure. "Lets go to my place..."

The strippers exchanged concerned glances at Sombra's apparently deflated behavior. Sombra silently turned and walked off. They collectively shrugged and followed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agents get exposure.

The girls drunkenly bantered as they walked through the once scenic Dutch streets but Sombra remained oddly quiet as she led.

"What's happened to her?" Tracer asked Mercy under her breath.

"I don't know but I quite prefer it..."

They arrived at a narrow old world brick building with a characteristically Flemish facade. It was the type of tasteful house that would have cost a fortune in the cities heyday and could only have been aquired as result of a wise purchase decades and decades ago. The strippers silently noted it was an unusual home for a orphan hacker turned exotic dancer.

"Aww, Sombra, this place is so cute!" exclaimed Daisy upon entering Sombra's house, "bet it cost a fortune to rent."

"It smells like skunky grandpa..." muttered Mercedes.

"Yeah, the old people I got it from never finished moving out," Sombra mumbled, "hold on, I need to take a call."

She rounded a corner and barreled upstairs to the bathroom where she locked the door.

"Gabe, I'm freaking out, Gabe. You didn't tell me it was aerosolized! I thought it would be like a needle! I wanted enough to reprogram the agents!"

"R&D says there's enough in that bottle to reprogram an airport."

The blood again drained from Sombra's face. "How much does it take to reprogram one person?" she asked ominously.

"Just one whiff. Why are you freaking out? What happened?"

Sombra blinked several times as she felt her judgment leave her. A nihilistic impulse grew in her that she'd cultivated since she was a child.

"Sombra!" Gabriel shouted, "were you exposed?! Jesus Christ..."

She sat herself crosslegged on the floor and picked the earpiece out of her ear as if it were an annoying foreign object then took the mysterious black aerosol canister in hand. Suddenly, it's operation all made sense to her. She shook it and huffed it like a whippet as she sometimes did for amusement as an orphan girl. Immediately, she felt liberated from her intelligence as her IQ plummeted.

"Wow, that fucks you up," she murmured as Gabriel raged inaudibly at her from the earpiece on the floor.

She emerged bleary eyed and, with a swipe of her hair over her ear and a sniff, swaggered downstairs passing Daisy on her way up to the bathroom.

"Hey, try this," Sombra offered in a sultry tone.

Daisy, being rather drug savvy, huffed the canister without question and immediately began giggling. "Woaaw," she marveled, "that's good!"

"Right?"

The latina hacker made her way to the kitchen where the other strippers were in the midst of unpacking their alcohol. Sombra immediately went for the liquor cabinet following some innate programming. The liquor stock was entirely unopened birthday and holiday presents. The former occupants were evidently not drinkers. She pulled the old cards and wrapping string off and piled the liquor on the table. Tracer's goth-punk amour found the sound system and put on some Russian punk music, immediately kicking up the mood.

Tracer, Pharah and Mercy stood in the corner watching Sombra distrustfully.

"She's acting so weird..." Tracer noted.

Amy stood in the corner wearing her helmet with a pout. She investigated her foot for a moment then continued staring on like a wallflower.

"Amy's acting weird too," noted Mercy, "lets help her out."

"Hiya, Amy!" greeted Tracer.

"Oh, Ricochet, don't tell me you're drunk too?"

"Uh, just a smidge for stage confidence..." she lied.

Amy sighed and folded her arms in disappointment.

"If you don't want to drink, dear. We won't either..." Mercy said trying to be supportive.

Amy lit up. "Oh, thank you! I wanted to share secrets and get to know you all," she confessed. "Not gossip and drink," she added snidely so the other dancers could overhear.

At that moment, Tracer's amour returned and possessively wrapped her arms around her front causing Amy, through some social physics, to resume her wallflowering. Mercy touched her throat and cleared it when they resumed their make out session. "Ricochet," she said with emphasis, turning her attention to the lesbian pilot, "I don't think we've met your _friend_."

The goth-punk girl paused her pleasure as Tracer affectionately rubbed the girl's neck. "Exene, great to meet you," she said in her creaky just slightly nasally voice, "I liked your dance, very hot."

"Why, thank you," Mercy replied awkwardly, "I shopped all over Amsterdam to find that swimsuit out of season..."

Anxious thoughts barrelled through her head that Tracer and Exene were real live red-blooded lesbians and she was a fake prude. She grabbed Pharah's hand seeking comfort. Exene noticed and gave her a sly smile as Tracer melted in her arms. The night was going to be interesting indeed.

"Ricochet..." said Mercy to no response. She cocked her head. " _Lena._ "

"Uh, yeah, luv?" she replied, stopping her indulgence for a second. Mercy glared at her. "Ah, right..."

"I'll be over there," said Exene, casually walking off towards the liquor. Tracer let her hand slide off her newfound amour, ogling her with infatuated eyes and a goofy smile as she walked away.

"You're hopeless," Mercy noted with a derisive head shake.

"Heyyy," Sombra called as she swaggered over with a salacious grin, "a blue girl, nice hat, is that a costume?"

"You _know_ it's my skin, Sombra! And _you_ gave me this 'hat,' as you called it."

The words sloughed off Sombra as if she hadn't even heard them. Her indifferent expression was such that she didn't seem to know or care who Amy was. "Wanna try something neat?"

"No."

Sombra sprayed the aerosol canister up in the air in front of their faces. "Oops," she said cattily before swaying off.

"God, she's the worst!" cursed Tracer.

"Cover your nose, don't breathe it in!" ordered Mercy.

"Ah, that sort of stuff has never effected me..." Amy sighed indifferently, noticeably not covering her nose or mouth.

"Amy, would you like to leave?" offered Pharah, holding her nose, "it might be best if we—"

"No, I strangely like watching other people enjoy things I can't," she replied enigmatically as she drifted to the other side of the room.

"What did she just do?" hissed Tracer almost in a quiet scream.

"I have no idea! Keep your wits about you. But whatever it is, it's not poisonous."

"Oi, how can you tell, doc?"

Mercy pointed to Sombra huffing from the canister then passing it to Scarlett.

"Oh, right," Tracer replied, "so it's some kind of drug..."

"If that's a drug, than I think we may have already failed our mission," Pharah noted, pointing at the chemical haze forming in the room.

"Just keep an eye on Amelie and contact Jack and Ana!" spat Mercy, realizing her meatheaded girlfriend was in fact totally right. "I'll open a window and try to think of something. If I can get ahold of the canister and figure out what's in it, maybe I can find a way to stop the drug before it affects us..."


	16. Chapter 16

_Nearby..._

"You knew this would happen, Gabriel," Moira scolded over her com as she hoisted her biotic equipment onto her back.

"Besides Widowmaker and myself, Sombra is our best operative."

Moira stood in the dim red light of a Talon armored personnel carrier. Around her a special task force of Talon stormtroopers was in the midst of gearing up with gas masks and ballistic armor for a chemical weapons environment.

"If that isn't a bellwether for our little organization, I don't know what is..." she said flaring her hand and manifesting a dark biotic orb, "just because you believe in her doesn't mean she can do the job. How many second chances will you give?"

"Sounds like you're questioning my judgment."

"Too right," she said clasping her hand, "we have a little opportunity, you know. We can make her far more agreeable."

"Sombra's strength is that she's unpredictable. I won't allow you to turn her into one of your playthings."

"She'd be your plaything too, you know..." she said with a evil grin. "Of course, now that your agent is out of commission, this operation is effectively under the purview of R directorate."

"You're not a field agent. Your role is to provide technical advise to the extraction team," Gabriel growled, "if you lay one finger on her..."

"Of course, I won't touch or try to tame your orphan pet," she replied pithily.

"Good."

Moira closed the line and finished suiting up into her modified Valkyrie suit as her Talon stormtroopers completed their weapons check.

"Human sexual attraction is bizarre," Moira noted cryptically to one of the anonymous troopers, "I will never understand."

"Yes sir," he replied robotically, minding his plasma rifle.

Sombra and Gabriel's dysfunctional on again off again hatefucking was legendary at Talon. They couldn't stand each other but without Gabriel she would have been excommunicated from Talon long ago.

"We'll move out in 30 minutes. The subjects in the gas-affected zone will be mostly docile but be on the lookout for Overwatch agents. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"The gas is designed for Widowmaker so we don't know how normal subjects will respond, be prepared for anything..."

* * *

_Watchpoint Gibraltar_

Jack lay back in his chair asleep with his feet resting on his desk. On his laptop a digital stripper, who'd graced Jack's computer by its poor spyware protection during his seedier internet travels, danced and twirled.

"Commander Morrison!" came Pharah's voice over the Athena console.

"What in the?" he cursed after snorting awake. He rubbed his head for a second and groaned as he came to to the sight of the dancer. He closed the lid abruptly and turned his attention to Athena's screen. It displayed the waves of the audio only transmission along with geolocational data. "What's up, Amari?"

"We've been exposed to a chemical agent, we need support," she reported urgently, "several civilians too..."

"Winston!"

The gorilla bounded down from his copula and joined Jack.

"Uh, yes sir, is there trouble?" the gorilla asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Says the agents were hit with something chemical," barked Jack as he gestured angrily at the screen.

"What?" asked Winston looking at the console in concern. "What kind?"

"Some sort of Talon research chemical—a spray in a little can... like spray paint or whipped cream or... um, easy cheese. We believe Sombra was going to use it to reprogram Amelie but we were all hit," Pharah explained with a cough. "Angela's working on a solution but, I dunno..."

"Hold it together, soldier," Jack ordered. "What's all that chatter in the background?"

"We're at a house party with the dancers... hold on," she said suddenly becoming giggly, "sorry, Jack, I'm not trying to laugh on purpose, its just so scary it's funny."

Jack's eye twitched. He turned to Winston. "What do they need for a fix? Tell them what to do!"

"Um, Pharah," Winston asked awkwardly, approaching the console, "could you, perhaps, procure a sample of the drug?"

"Hey, who ya talkin' to, beautiful? " came one of the stripper's voices over the com, "hi!"

"Get Amari back on the line!" Jack cursed grumpily.

"Ooh, scary! Sounds kind of sexy though."

Pharah returned after some static and laughter. "Yeah, I'm dating his ex-wife... Oops, Jack you there?"

"Is he single? I'll take him!" laughed the young stripper.

"Pharah, I need you to get a hold of the drug and scan it with a mass spectrometer," Winston explained.

Jack cringed. "Mass spectrometer? How is she going to do that? She's losing her damn mind!"

"If you have access to a medical tricorder—"

"A what?" Pharah interrupted.

"A medical tricorder," said a smokey female voice with a Mexican accent over the line, "sorry, couldn't help but overhear. Yeah, I got one of those, _amigo_ , in my hand. You don't know it, I'm a computer."

Winston and Jack's eyes simultaneously popped. They turned to each other and then back to the console.

"Sombra!" Jack shouted.

"What? Sombra? I don't..." she replied with a sniff, "look, I'm pretty drunk and high and I don't know where I am right now but I'll do whatever if you owe me a favor."

As Winston and Jack tried to grasp the situation Sombra muttered "dang, everyone here is so hot..." Finally, Jack decided to jump on the opportunity.

"It's a deal," said Jack brusquely, "scan that drug you've been taking and send the data here."

"Pfft, _si orale_ , I wanna know what's in it," Sombra laughed. Suddenly, the hacker's voice gained a hint of uncharacteristic fearfulness, as if she'd been holding something in while she confidently laughed and joked. "So, yeah, if I help you... I'm pretty lost... maybe you can help me find my mama and papa?"

Winston adjusted his glasses and regarded Jack carefully to see how he'd respond to the dissociating hacker. The glare of the computer screen reflected off his glasses in the dark decommissioned base.

"We'll try our best," Jack replied maintaining a reassuring air of authority.

"Thank you," Sombra replied solemnly, "here, whatever your name is, you can talk to your dad."

The line closed.

Jack immediately pointed to Winston as Sombra streamed the data into the Athena console. "Call Helix, we need personnel on the ground there immediately."

"I should simply note that that's in direct violation of the Petras Act."

"Send it as an anonymous tip, say one of their agents and Dr. Ziegler is in the custody of a Talon terrorist."

Winston snorted in disapproval.

"Do it," the former strike commander ordered, "and find a way to neutralize that drug. I'm taking an Orca to Amsterdam..."


	17. Chapter 17

_Talon Research Chemical, Stage 1_

The sound of chiming bells echoed through the streets of Amsterdam and into the window of the old narrow house as the Munttoren struck exactly one.

Amy sat crosslegged on the kitchen counter under a coo-coo clock, tracking its swinging pendulum with her nose. When she was bored of that, she crawled on top of the fridge and contorted into the small space, watching the party intently from her hiding spot.

"Blue," said Scarlett, noticing her colleague's strange behavior, "are you OK?"

"I'm not blue... Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yes..."

"I saw a spider catch a fly the other day. It was so exciting," she whispered, "it made me want to kill."

"Heh," Scarlett replied, "I might be too drunk for you. Are all ballerinas like you?"

"Yes."

Amy tucked her head in so she was folded completely into her hiding spot.

"OK, conversation over..." said Scarlett peeling back into the party. She watched her friends gossip and chat over the music when a wave of drunken impulsiveness coursed through her body and settled in her pelvis.

"Hey, there's too many girls here!" she shouted as she drifted into the conversation.

The strippers spoke quickly in a dizzying rapid fire exchange.

"Where's Rosco? Lets get him over here!" asked Daisy excitedly bouncing on her toes, "he's got drugs! Sombra's thing's gone dry."

"Oh yeah, he'd kill for this," Mercedes joked, "does he have any guy friends or whatever?"

"I like it just us, you know?" said Skye swaying to the beat with a bottle of Swedish vodka in hand, "what if I want to take off my clothes?"

"What? That's gay, luv."

"Speaking of 'luv,'" noted Daisy in a catty tone, "looks like Exene finally got to one of us. If you're quiet you can hear it..."

The girls hushed and lowered the music. Amy stuck out her head and peered at the ceiling. To their collective amusement they could hear Tracer and Exene going at it on the floor above.

"Ricochet looks so good as a blonde..."

"I heard Exene carries a strap on in her purse."

"Good on her," noted Scarlet with an eyebrow raise.

"So now we know who's on top."

"OK! I'm horny!" announced Daisy pulling out her phone and typing with both thumbs, "I'm texting Rosco."

"Wait, what's up with, Sombra?"

"She's a bit of a sad drunk," noted Mercedes as she gave the hacker a vengeful sidelong look. Sombra was sitting on her knees looking at the wall, she appeared to be counting to herself. Every now and again she'd shake her head in irritation. "Funny how that works..."

"Well, she's had a lot, luv. Like _a lot_. I've never seen a girl drink like her."

"Where's Mama Mercy?"

"With Cleo, they were calling someone."

"She doesn't like that name."

"Well, she hasn't said anything."

"Cleo's a little quiet... I overheard the manager say she was a soldier."

"So, that explains why she's jacked!"

“I wonder what she’s seen...”

"I'm going to be honest, it wouldn't take much for me to go gay for a girl like her," sighed Scarlett, "she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Are they like together?"

"Not sure, Mercy seems so... straight."

Daisy sighed a loud wavering sigh. "Everyone feel good?" she asked pulling at her shirt, "I feel like I'm coming up on something."

"Yeah, I feel... light. The room's warm," said Skye enigmatically in her Swedish accent, "English is so difficult, maybe I just want to dance?"

She pulled off her shirt and threw it in the corner then wrapped her arm around Daisy's shoulder.

Daisy finished rapidly typing on her phone then gave a late but enthusiastic "Yeah!" in response.

Scarlet smirked when she saw Skye rubbing Daisy's shoulder perhaps a little more than affectionately but then began to feel strangely warm herself. Mercedes, usually the restrained one, followed suite and took off her top. The dark beauty swayed to the music as she lit a cigarette in her fancy black bra.

"I like Exene's taste," noted Scarlet, "but we need louder and better music..."

As Scarlet switched the music to heavy Italian electro, Amy crawled out of her spider hole realizing that everyone was doing something she was good at and began to dance.

Sombra unhappily sniffed and walked off to get away from the noise. She stumbled upon Mercy and Pharah in the living room. Pharah's face looked lighter somehow but Mercy seemed to be sweating from the neurochemical release.

"I can't handle it! How am I supposed to figure out how to stop this drug like this?" she said pulling her top off, "I haven't done drugs since I was in my early 20's."

"What? When? Which!?" asked Pharah with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

"Oh, God, MDMA. When I was an _au pair_ in England," she said stumbling into a love seat and holding her forehead, "I would go out clubbing... my English was terrible... so many regrets. Did you do drugs?"

"I smoked weed when I was a teenager... a lot," said Pharah seating herself on the love seat's arm. "During the draft the government said they'd throw you in jail if you failed the drug test but I smoked anyways. They conscripted me all the same because of the manpower shortage during the crisis and threw out the results. Mother was so pissed I didn't want to serve... but I just wanted to leave and go to art school in Europe. I haven't done anything since..."

"Sorry, what did you say?" Mercy asked, "I was listening but then... I wasn't."

Pharah laughed melancholically. "I don't really care..."

They looked up when they sensed Sombra's presence and forgot what they were talking about. She blinked at them. The couple could see in her eyes that the drug was hitting her hard.

"Guys, I feel fucked up... I just don't feel very mature or like I can handle this..." Sombra complained miserably, "I need a hug."

Before they could reply Sombra fell forward, embracing Mercy and burying her face in her breasts. The doctor's eyes widened in surprise but she instinctively held Sombra's head. The chemical was all over her hair and clothes, just touching Sombra made Mercy feel more inebriated by its effects. Pharah let herself slide off the chair arm next to her partner.

"Wh-what?" asked Mercy, suddenly awash in female body contact, "I feel... this is very nice..."

The three were frozen for a moment as they were pacified by the sensation of each other's touch. Mercy's mind reeled as she tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing and why the person resting on her lap was weird. Suddenly, there was a stirring from Sombra on her chest. Mercy sighed as she felt her incredibly sensitive nipples twist between Sombra's fingers. Pharah gently took Mercy's chin and turned her face towards hers.

They kissed as Sombra undid Mercy's bra.

Back in the kitchen dance party, Scarlet elbowed Mercedes to get her attention then nodded in the direction of the living room. "So, Mercy seems a bit straight, huh?"

Mercedes looked then covered her mouth in disbelief at the sight of the impromptu lesbian threesome. "Oh my God, in front of everyone?! Should we stop them? Should we leave?"

"I'm somehow more worried about Skye and Daisy," noted Scarlet observing Skye trying to dance intimately with the younger stripper. Her advance was rejected. "Poor Skye, she gets like this when she's drunk..."

"Why doesn't she join the—how do you say?—exhibitionists?"

"I think it might be more like love, dear."

"Woo! Hell yeah! Get it girl!" Daisy shouted drunkenly as she pulled away from Skye's arms.

Skye turned to see what Daisy was referring to and stormed away from the scene with a red face.

"Ugh, I feel like I'm losing it," Scarlet admitted, "I just keep coming up on Sombra's drug and I can't take off more of me clothes. We’re all going bonkers. I might need something to eat..."

"I'll find something, at least _we_ can be responsible," said Mercedes stepping over to the fridge.

At that moment the doorbell rang. Daisy popped away from the party and opened the door. Rosco burst in holding up several unfortunately colored bottles of liquor in his hands. His eyes popped as he scanned the tableau unfolding in the small house: Upstairs, Tracer had just hustled to the bathroom wearing only a bed sheet as Exene stood naked in the bedroom doorway sporting a decent strapon; Sombra, Mercy and Pharah were in the midst of a sweaty threesome on the living room love seat; Skye, Scarlet and Mercedes, a blonde, redhead and brunette respectively, posed in their underwear with their necks craned towards the door to see who'd just arrived, whilst Daisy bounced up and down in front of him with a coquettish look in her eyes.

It was unbelievable.

"YES!" Rosco roared in a guttural tone, "Now _this_ my kind of party!"

* * *

_Orca en route to Amsterdam_

"Huh," muttered Jack as he shifted to spread his legs, "bunch of strippers on some kind of mind control drug... wonder what's happening."

He looked towards Torbjorn and Reinhardt, seated across from him on the rumbling dropship.

They shrugged.

"Ah, who can say, Jack? Only that Talon witch doctor knows. The sooner we get on the ground, the sooner we know," Torbjorn replied pragmatically.

Jack humphed.

"Hard to believe, imagine Pharah a stripper or Tracer," he chuckled. He scratched his chin. "Wonder if they were any good..."

Reinhardt ran his hand through his beard as he tried to gather what the former strike command was getting at. "Better to focus on the battle ahead I believe, commander."

"Right, of course..." Jack began to tap his foot impatiently. "Athena, can't we go any faster?"

"If we fly at hypersonic speeds, we will alert the European aviation safety agency and reveal our presence."

"Damn it," he cursed, "time to target?"

"At this rate, we will arrive at 0200 hours. Be advised, Helix Security will arrive at the target area well before we will."

"Did I ask?"

"No, commander."

Jack grumbled in disapproval. The AI was trying to get him to break the rules.

"Athena, kick us up to hypersonic."

"Right away, commander…"

* * *

_Talon APC en route to target area_

Moira checked the mission timer on her wrist as the stealthy black APC barreled through the narrow canal streets of Amsterdam towards the expansive red light district.

"They should be at the peak of phase 1 and entering phase 2... the subjects will start to hallucinate," Moira stated over her com piece.

The vehicle shook as it hit a pothole, causing the stormtroopers in their hazmat gear to rock forward.

"Do you think they'll be a threat?" Gabriel asked.

"They'll be mostly infantile, though not yet suggestible. The content of the hallucinations depends on the psychology of the subject. There's a probability they may react strongly to them if the subject has experienced trauma."

"Right..." Gabriel replied grimly.

"You're worried about your hacker, aren't you Gabriel?" said Moira with evil eyes. "What's she been through?"


	18. Chapter 18

_Talon Research Chemical, Stage 2_

The party continued on. The strippers and Roscoe moved upstairs away from the romp, which had grown too loud and obscene to ignore, into the small bedroom.

Roscoe tried to flirt with Scarlet but she laughed so hard at his jokes she peed herself. Mercedes, in the manner of a patient mother, managed to stop her fit and remove her soiled underwear but found it impossible to get her to stand still to put Scarlet’s pants back on. She was currently tending to her as if she were an actual baby. Daisy, who Roscoe thought was his best hookup prospect, had taken to scribbling childish pornographic images on every loose piece of paper in the house as she sat between Skye's legs. Tracer and Exene, meanwhile, sat across from him on one of the narrow room's double beds. He was sure from the stilted nature of their conversation that he’d interrupted something.

"So, crazy party, yes?" Roscoe said, gesturing to the lesbians with his drink and a flat smile.

He was feeling awkward, like an intruder in a feminine space.

Tracer scratched the side of her head. She hadn't expected the party to move to her improvised love nest.

"Um, yeah, mate. It's a real banger..." she replied, "but I can't for the life of me figure out if I was supposed to be doing something..."

"You said you had to watch Amy," said Exene leaning back on the bed and flexing her triceps.

Tracer face palmed. "Oi! Where's she gone?!"

Downstairs a strange scene was unfolding. The clothes had come off. Pharah and Sombra were giving Mercy quite a time. She was on her third or fourth orgasm by their courtesy. Their beautiful brown skin contrasted with hers as they held each other in the low light.

Suddenly, Angela stirred. "It's too rough..." she complained, pulling herself away from Sombra's grasp.

Sombra retracted and knelt on the carpet as she held herself instead. She appeared to be quivering as she covered her breasts with her arms. Her bleary eyes vibrated in a disconcerting manner.

"I'm-I'm... come on, I need this..." murmured Sombra, sounding very strung out.

Pharah drew her back close and positioned her on top of herself. They began to kiss each other in a heated exchange. Pharah slipped her middle fingers inside Sombra and made a beckoning motion with her hand as she held her. To her surprise, after only a moment, Sombra bucked in her arms and quivered as she held Pharah's forearm. She'd just cum. The hacker bid her to start pleasuring her again. Mercy watched her girlfriend's appealingly muscled arm tense as she worked Sombra to orgasm. Again, after less than a minute she twisted and ground down Pharah's fingers with her pelvis.

She gasped and embraced Pharah desperately.

"Come on, fuck me," Sombra whispered through gritted teeth.

Angela watched Pharah lift her up and lay her on the floor with a devious grin. Sombra shifted and regarded Pharah intently to figure out how to position her body. They naturally entwined their legs with each other with Pharah on top. She spread her hands over Sombra's leg, gripping her ankle and upper thigh passionately as she began to ride her in deep concentration. Sombra wasn't the biggest fan of this position but Pharah was beautiful, absolutely stunning, she wanted to be fucked by her. Sombra ran her hand up Pharah's ankle, squirming orgasmically as she drank the fit Egyptian girl in with her disconcerting eyes—captivated especially by her lady abs and belly button piercing. At first, Sombra was willing to just watch her impromptu partner enjoy the ride but she found that Pharah was actually putting a fair amount stimulation on her clit. Sombra strained and craned her neck, looking at Pharah longingly as she worked into her with increasing force.

"I can get off like this," Sombra said to her in a subdued tone.

She wanted to reach up and touch her pleasing arm and ab muscles, but being held down in position, she settled for holding onto Pharah's wrist as she rode her.

Sombra's chest began to heave as she approached orgasm. Suddenly, the hacker's mouth went agape then closed as she squinted her eyes shut and craned her neck back. She bucked several times as she moaned, clamping her death grip on Pharah's wrist until she released. Angela observed the pair with curiosity wondering how someone could get off so easily, when she realized she was completely overcome with hot jealousy that her partner was perhaps being enjoyed more than she could.

"Stop! I don't like it!" Mercy suddenly shouted, getting on top of Sombra and resting her hand on her head, "what are you doing?"

Pharah stopped and sat up on her knees as Sombra lay panting. She'd been caught up in the moment and hadn't realized something was wrong. Sombra squirmed and waited for Pharah, believing that this was still part of the sex. When she realized they'd stopped, tears came to her eyes.

At that moment, Amy silently uncontorted and flipped herself down from her hiding spot in the corner of the ceiling. She'd witnessed everything.

"Are you seeing things too, Sombra?" she asked.

The three naked women jumped then settled when they realized who it was.

"I'm hearing and seeing things..." Sombra muttered fearfully with paranoid eyes, "I'm trying to distract myself..."

"Ugh, the room is spinning, I'm seeing shadows. If I close my eyes it's like I'm watching a slideshow of a bunch of shit images and I realize they're my life. I feel so angry I could kill one moment, then the next I want to weep, I'm so screwed up..." explained Sombra miserably as she covered her breasts with her hands, "I don't know who I am, what my name is. I forget things and then I remember things and they're usually horrible. I just have this sinking feeling that my parents are gone and I don't know if they're dead and that I'm a fucked up person." Sombra sat up and wiped her nose. "The only thing I can think to do is feel something, anything, that's more intense than what I feeling right now or I might kill myself. Ugh, I'm a pathetic nympho, I just want to get off."

The women were silent. Amy stared at the sullen hacker indifferently and humphed.

"Sombra, why do people keep saying that like it's my name?" said the disoriented hacker.

"It _is_ your name. You've been trying to tell me my name and you forgot your own." Amy twirled her hand and regarded the room. "This drug, whatever it is, seems suited for me. You're all falling apart and I feel like I'm master of the house. I feel lucid, like I'm starting over... or maybe my mind is suddenly gaining purpose."

"Are _you_ seeing things?" Mercy asked suddenly gaining a bemused smile, "I'm starting to see shimmering things..."

Amy looked past them and blinked. "Yes," she replied flatly, "patterns..."

"I'm seeing art stuff," said Pharah with a kind of devious amusement.

She folded her legs and sat cross legged, watching her hallucinations grow about the room. Suddenly, Mercy exhaled as if she were overwhelmed. She stood nakedly over the solemn scene and stretched her arms over her head.

"Ah, I feel like a goddess, can you see it?"

"I can kind of see it," said Pharah pithily, riding off the doctor's excitement.

Mercy gracefully ascended on Sombra and held her head her softly in her breasts. Sombra's sleepless eyes widened then turned skeptical in her arms.

"I can help you, Sombra."

"Interesting," Amy noted coldly as she caught sight of something. She closed her visor and stalked it.

"I don't know why but I want to sing," Mercy announced, looking down at the hacker affectionately, "I used to sing in a choir, my father was a Lutheran minister."

She cleared her throat and began belting out a raspy chorus of hallelujah before suddenly stopping when Pharah burst out laughing.

"It's been a long time..." Mercy admitted.

"Wait, I know what can help," said Pharah with a mischievous smile.

"I mean, it was great when you were fucking me," Sombra mumbled, "I didn't, like, want that to stop..."

Pharah stood contrapposto, running her hand through her sleek black hair as she tried to figure out how to get the stereo to play. Suddenly, "Handel the Messiah" burst out at deafening volume over the sound system and Mercy burst into song, singing pitch perfect to the music.

Sombra's eyes shot open and she witnessed the beautiful naked blonde woman singing hallelujah! to her, _her_ of all people. She melted in her breasts as she was totally overcome with the idea that the doctor was an actual seraphim singing God's praises in an angelic choir. Ecstatic notions of redemption and forgiveness bounced around in her head as tears began to stream down her face.

"Wow! What's happening down here?" asked Daisy cattily as the gaggle of hallucinating strippers was summoned downstairs by the music.

"It looks like racist European political cartoon circa 1800's," joked Roscoe, "Europe redeems Mexico with help of her Egyptian subjects."

Tracer stumbled and fell down the stairs to bare witness to the naked agents huddled around Sombra.

"Cleo, damn girl, nice muscles," noted Exene helping the stumbling lesbian up.

Pharah looked down at her naked chest then up at the punk girl with an arrogant grin. "Thanks, call me Pharah."

She loved being hot and muscley, there wasn't a part of her body she was ashamed of. It was like she couldn't do anything wrong.

"Is Sombra, OK?" asked Skye.

"Who's Sombra?" the hacker asked impatiently.

"Looks like she's having a bad trip..." noted Scarlet laying herself on the floor next to Mercy and looking up at the ceiling, "I'm _really_ starting to see things."

"Yeah, I'm like seeing fractions," said Daisy, plopping her head down.

"You mean fractals?" Sombra corrected, sounding utterly exhausted.

"Whatever."

"What's a fractal?"

The girls lay on the floor in a circle with their heads touching staring at the ceiling. In their mind's eye they saw endless fractals and psychedelic designs unfolding before them. They were, in a word, tripping sack.

"A fractal is a detailed, recursive and infinitely similar mathematical set for which it’s Hausdorff-Besicovitch dimension strictly exceeds it's topological dimension. One example is the magnification of the Mandelbrot set which is the set obtained from the quadratic occurrence equation..." Sombra murmured before rattling off the formula perfectly from memory.

"Never thought possible party could be too autistic..." muttered Rosco, drinking to himself as he trip sat the wildly hallucinating strippers.

"I get it..." Mercy replied, her pupils dilated to the size of quarters, "you like math, Sombra?"

"Who's Sombra?" the hallucinating hacker replied.

"No one."

"I mean, _I_ like math, I want to be a computer scientist when I grow up, but I think I'm a stripper. Why am I stripper?"

"Hah, Mandel- _bro_ ," Tracer giggled.

The girls had a laugh before they were again silenced by the overwhelming intensity of the lights and colors twisting before them.

Tracer lifted her head off the floor and the fractal constellation disappeared, there was something she had to do, something important...

She as she looked off into the kitchen she caught sight of eight glowing red eyes of a monster restlessly trawling around the room. Tracer gasped at the otherworldly sight but her reason caught up with her. It was Amy sitting in the dark hunched over like a goblin in her tactical helmet. She'd been alligator walking around the room, investigating various objects.

"Watcha gotten into, luv?" Tracer asked nervously.

"The person who lived here was killed..."

"It's just..." Tracer struggled for the name, " _that girl's_ place... I'm sure it's an AirBnB or something."

"No, it's _his_ home," Amy replied, handing her a picture of the late owner of the house. "I can see everything... he was strangled in that chair." Suddenly, Amy twisted her head in the direction of a barely audible sound and snapped her visor shut. "Shh," she hushed, "I hear him..."

"Who?"

"Monsieur Spider, he's my friend," she replied cryptically. "He knows what happened..."

She scampered off into the dark. Tracer briefly thought about the beautiful girls in the other room and how much she wanted to lay down with them in their psychedelic puppy pile again.

Tracer's attention was abruptly brought back by a bloodcurdling scream. It was Amy. She whipped her head towards the sound and saw her scampering back fearfully. Tracer knelt down to hug the hyperventilating blue dancer. She was inconsolable from what she'd seen.

"What is it, luv?"

"I saw a spider!" she gasped.

"I thought you said he was your friend," Tracer tried to reason.

"Not Ms. Spider!" she cried fearfully as she clutched Tracer. "I hate her! I mean, not the female ones... no, never. They kill their mates, they eat their own children... They're horrible and venomous. They only eat and breed and kill. They don't need food or water or their own blood..."

"Where is she, luv? I'll squish her."

Amy pointed to the bathroom. Tracer got up to investigate the little room. To her extreme dismay, all she could find was a mirror.

"Luv, why don't you take off that helmet and have another look."

"NO!" she cried in paranoid fear, "I have to see, I need to see if she's coming to get me. I can see everything with it."

Amy booked it out of the room and vanished into another hiding place. Tracer stared at the mirror in disbelief, wondering how much longer the drug could affect her for.

* * *

_Talon APC en route to target area_

“Making good time?” Gabriel chimed in over Moira’s com.

“No, these streets are narrow and believe it or not it takes a discouraging amount of time to move a hazardous environment combat unit.”

“Interesting. I thought you might know, we picked up an Orca moving at hypersonic speed towards your location. It triangulates with a Helix aircraft which is also on an approach vector. Think you can handle it?”

Moira growled and pounded her fist on the inside of the APC.

“Damn it, Gabriel!”

“I think this puts the mission back under the purview of Q directorate...”

“You knew! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I wouldn’t have waited!”

“You’re on a need to know basis. So I take it you want help?”

“Yes! Gabriel you bloody _gombeen_!” she cursed, “but if you turn this into a war we won’t be able to get either of them back! My work _cannot_ be interrupted!”

“Right...” he growled.

* * *

_Talon Submarine Aircraft Carrier, Heligoland Bight_

Gabriel turned away from the command station monitor towards his crew. “Time to make our presence known,” he said looking out from his copula over the command center, “fire on the incoming aircraft.”

“Aye aye.”

An alarm sounded in the command center as the ominous submarine released its ballast tanks and breached the surface. Upon contact with the air it displaced a massive wave in all directions. A second alarm sounded on the deck as the craft deployed its surface-to-air missile battery and unleashed two missiles in the direction of Amsterdam.

“Prepare a Predator drop ship and a strike team,” Gabriel ordered, "and get to your battle stations, we caught them off guard but they're sure to respond."

He watched the missiles speed towards their targets. Every military in Northern Europe was about to be alerted to Talon's presence. Akande would have his head.


	19. Chapter 19

_Talon Research Chemical, Stage 3_

The Talon APC rudely pushed a compact car into the canal as it rounded the corner to Sombra’s street at high speed. The rumbling impetuous vehicle came to a halt in front of the narrow house with the sound of a hydraulic release then lowered its bay door. A cadre of Talon stormtroopers piled out with military efficiency as Moira stayed inside minding the field equipment she’d need to reprogram Widowmaker.

“Its better _I_ do it or that idiot Mexican orphan would have bungled it up...” she muttered as she hauled up the hardened briefcase.

Inside, Rosco witnessed in confusion the sweaty drunk girls pull themselves off the ground and begin to spontaneously engage in various intellectual pursuits.

They tore apart the former resident's book cases looking for the thickest most impenetrable books they could find. The hauled the books to the kitchen table and pulled up chairs in a circle as they read in their underwear. Scarlet got to reading _The Critique of Pure Reason_ whilst Daisy enjoyed Hegel’s _Phenomenology._

"Oh my God, I want Hegel to raw me," groaned Daisy ecstatically as she devoured the book with her eyes.

"Philosophy is so boring," noted Mercedes, herself plowing through Proust's _À la recherche du temps perdu_ with the French she learned clubbing in Paris, "literature reveals far more about spirit..."

Daisy took the book and tossed it against the wall. "Fuck philosophy!"

Just as it was occurring to Rosco that this was not the most fun he could be having hanging out with a bunch of half-naked tripping strippers, the doorbell rang.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming...” he muttered resentfully.

He looked through the peephole to see a woman in what appeared to be a sleek white hazmat suit with a red bubble helmet. She was grinning at him like a cat. He tentatively opened the door as he heard the sound of two ominous booms in the distance.

“Cans I’s helps you?” Rosco asked with a skeptical eyebrow raise.

“Kindly die, if you would,” she said extending her hand and emitting a viscous black-purple stream from his heart into her hand.

He collapsed clutching his chest, writhing in pain as the mysterious woman stepped over him. Talon stormtroopers immediately closed in to completely neutralize him. The rest of the cadre stormed in to the sight and sounds of horrified screams and mostly undressed women desperately scattering as they tried to cover themselves. It was over in the blink of an eye. The troopers chased them down and manhandled them, gathering them in the living room in a line and holding them at gunpoint. Only Amy seemed unafraid.

“Ah, yes, there’s my pet,” she said pointing to Amy and making a ‘come hither’ motion, “come to daddy.” Amy blinked incredulously as if she were offended but then obeyed. “The funny thing about Widowmaker, malfunctioning identity or not, is that she _never_ disobeys an order. You only have to say _precisely_ what you want her to do… You hadn’t noticed?”

“Who are you?” Amy asked.

“Interesting question… the more interesting one is _who are you?_ ”

Amy made a face of adamant frustration. “I _know_ who I am!”

Moira humphed and paced up the line of women with her hands behind her back. “My former colleague certainly knows who I am,” she said stopping and gripping Mercy’s cheeks in her nailed hand, “we’d have much to talk about on the topic of one Gabriel Reyes and postmortem _cellular regeneration_.” She continued to hold Mercy’s face in her cheeks as the doctor glared at her vengefully. “Like my concoction? Irresistible, yes?” Moira said adopting a mocking conversational tone, “How long did you go before giving up on trying to reverse the effects? Before you gave up on your mission , hmm? That was how long it took for your _free will_ to leave you. As it happens, volition is quantifiable. Fantastic.”

She threw Mercy’s face down and approached Sombra.

“There she is, the wreck. Look at the state of you. Do you even know who I am? Or who _you_ are anymore? How much of my drug did you take when you learned you could get high off of it?” Sombra looked away resentfully. “I asked you a question _agent_.”

Sombra spit. “I don’t talk to cops,” she said raising her chin and puffing herself up.

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Moira clutched her hands together and belly laughed, “she thinks we’re the police!”

“Leave her alone. You’ve had your fill ya witch,” Scarlet cursed, “Just do me if your gonna. Unless ya want to have a scrap.”

Moira grimaced then smiled cat-like. “Widowmaker,” she said darkly.

“That’s not my n-”

“Choke this woman to death,” she said pointing to the young stripper.

Amy blinked several times as if in irritation then approached Scarlet.

“What? Amy, we’ve been friends for months… w-what are you doing?” she whimpered as Amy stood above her.

Amy exhaled calmly as she wrapped her hands around the poor girl’s neck and pressed her thumbs against the arteries in her throat.

Pharah and Tracer bolted to try to save her but were battered down by the Talon stormtroopers as the girls panicked against their captors.

“At least try and stop!” Pharah cursed as she was held back.

“Fight it, Amy!” Tracer desperately shouted, “its not who you are!”

Amy cocked her head to the side, watching Scarlet’s face curiously as she did the grim deed. The girl was dead in a minute.

“Are we starting to see what’s going on here?” chuckled Moira, “how do you feel?”

Amy exhaled as if she were overwhelmed. “I’ve never felt anything so good in my life…”

“Oi, we never had a chance...” Tracer muttered, hanging her head.

“But she was my friend… why did I?” Amy asked in horror, “what was the point?”

She began to feel sick and dizzy from the conflicting sensations in her body. She took a step back and held her head in horrified disbelief.

“Don’t worry about it, my dear,” said Moira, touching her shoulders, “I’ll make those nasty feelings go away soon enough...” She turned to her troopers. “Move the Overwatch agents to the kitchen and prepare them for reprogramming then cover the room in plastic and take care of everyone else, I want no evidence we were ever here. We’ll have everything done before Gabriel can object.”

“What about agent Sombra?”

“What about her? Prepare her for reprogramming. She’s taken over one thousand times the dose needed to reprogram but her brain is… lets call it _exotic_ instead of abnormal. If she resists, do her like the bloody strippers.”

“Yes sir.”

“Be quick about it! We need this done before Q section gets here.”

 * * *

"Jack! Jack, come in!" Ana's voice crackled over his com. The former strike commander coughed and kicked off a scrap of metal from the wrecked aircraft. They'd landed at an oblique angle with the nose of the aircraft in a steep downward pitch. Exposed wires and broken aviation electronics sparked all over the wreckage as the ship's malfunctioning missile alarm blared. "Jack!"

"Yeah, yeah, I read you," he groaned.

"I saw the missile hit, I thought you were dead."

"Nope, it takes more than that to kill this old dog," he replied grimly.

"What about Reinhardt and Lindholm?"

Jack scanned the interior of the ruined aircraft. He witnessed Reinhardt throw off a piece of wreckage and stand with a pained groan. The man in the hulking armor approached Torbjorn with strained steps and helped him out of his seat. The short stubborn Swede protested and threw Reinhardt's hands off as he wrested himself from his seat.

"They're fine," Jack announced.

"Reinhardt, my friend, you're injured!" Torbjorn noted solemnly.

The German looked down at his torso and noticed an ugly shrapnel wound piercing his armor. He covered it with his mechanical hand then regarded the blood in his palm. "Tis' but a scratch," he replied, looking up at Torbjorn with a stoic chin raise.

"Don't you do that tired stoic crap with me!"

"Reinhardt's injured," Jack reported, "we'll need your biotic rifle."

"Of course, Jack."

"Just don't let the doctor see you use it," he grumbled, "give us rendezvous coordinates and we'll meet you there. Any sign of Helix?"

"No, they crashed in the river," she replied darkly, "they weren't as lucky as you..."

The commander cursed silently to himself. "Well, get on an emergency com and see if they're any survivors," he ordered angrily, "we're gonna need all the help we can get."

"Yes, Jack, but where are you?"

The grisled old soldier stood and tried to get his bearings in the crashed aircraft. He grabbed his pulse rifle and pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall then barrelled through the craft's flaming sparking avionics to the cockpit, putting out fires in his way. Upon arriving in the cockpit he looked out and, to his surprise, realized he was staring at an elderly Dutch couple having some late night tea in their kitchen. He blinked several times to make sure he was seeing the surreal scene correctly. They were so nearly blind and deaf the crash hadn't effected them. With a grunt of exertion and a solid kick, Jack busted open the emergency exit and crawled out the nose of the plane. He plopped into the couple's kitchen followed shortly by Torb and Reinhardt.

"Excuse me!" Jack yelled to the couple, "I think you'd better leave! Hey! Can you hear me?!"

The ancient quivering couple stared down their noses at the bewildered soldier then pulled their hearing aids and hefty glasses out of their matching terrycloth bathrobes.

"Its an American!" the woman exclaimed, "handsome too..."

"Shut up, dear, what does he want? Maybe he can turn off that bloody alarm! This is why I keep my hearing aid out, so I don't have to hear the constant sirens in this neighborhood, its all gone to shit with the new PM." Jack face palmed and muttered that he didn't have time for this as the old man continued his rant with out missing a beat. "Strippers and prostitutes everywhere since the economic reforms, liberalization they called it! Bet there's no coincidence that they've added security cameras everywhere too. Anti-terrorism act, my ear. Bloody perverts."

" _You_ voted for him, dear. I wanted the handsome socialist. Now, what do you want, sir?"


	20. Chapter 20

Inside the safe house a horror show was unfolding. Moira's henchman tied the agent's hands behind their backs and hauled them to into the kitchen. The maligned geneticist set up her ominous equipment, what looked like a projector of some sort and an electroencephalography device. Tracer eyed it fearfully as a Talon stormtrooper held her head down and shaved off her dyed blonde hair into the kitchen sink. Moira caught her looking out of the corner of her eye and gestured to her henchmen to erect an obscuring medical curtain.

"Ricochet!" called Daisy from the other room in a panic, "what are they talking about? Why are they calling you agents? What are they going to do to us?"

Moira emerged from behind the curtain with steepling hands as the organized chaos unfolded around them. "Ricochet. That would make a wonderful Talon call sign, don't you think? Our equipment here is designed for Widowmaker but agent Sombra's wonderful idea is too hard to pass up. I wonder if it will work? Who will you be on the other end once we make killing your pleasure? I suppose we'll just toss you out if it fails..." She checked her wrist and cleared her throat. "We're on a schedule, gentlemen. Let's start with our star dancer, Widowmaker. Is she ready?"

"Yes sir," replied a stormtrooper, walking Amy up to the scientist with a hastily shaven head.

"Grand," she said darkly, "this way, my dear."

Moira gestured behind the curtain with her lanky arms and took a theatrical bow.

"I'm afraid, what if I don't like who I become?" Amy asked innocently.

"Its not a matter of liking, its a matter of _knowing,_ " Moira said, intently placing the electrode suction cups on the dancer's head, "You've found a way to repress your memories, my dear. All that remains are little affects, little vestiges of feelings and images. For instance, you have a phobia of spiders-"

" _Some_ spiders," Amy corrected, "you don't know everything."

"Well, my dear. I don't have to," said the scientist stepping back and regarding her handy work, "Experiences are internalized as memories, the mind associates those feelings and affects so they become stored as signs in the unconscious. I'm willing to bet I know  _which_ spiders you're afraid of."

"Which?" Amy asked incredulously.

"The female ones," Moira said with an evil grin as Amy tensed uncomfortably at the mere thought, "Would you like to know why?"

"Yes."

"Because _you're the spider._ It will all become clear. Now step into my parlor, if you would..."

* * *

Outside, Ana scoped two Talon hazmat troopers rappelling off of Sombra's safe house dropping a massive white sheet as several other soldiers cordoned off the road with plastic barriers and biohazard tape. The narrow home was locked down. She took cover behind a gable.

"Jack... get here soon," Ana whispered over her com, "if you don't I'll have to move in myself, my daughter's in there."

"We're moving up the street, I see you," he replied.

She popped back up and scoped out the three former agents barrelling up the street towards her. Jack waved to her.

"I'll clear the way..." she said, cocking her biotic rifle.

She lined up a shot on a stormtrooper's heads with her biotic rifle. With a short breath she squeezed the trigger and a dart soared silently into his cranium, unleashing its lethal biotic payload into his nervous system. He was felled instantly without his comrades noticing. She lined up a second shot and another trooper was felled. This time, the Talon troopers noticed and immediately stopped their work, drawing their guns and scattering behind their makeshift barriers and APC for cover.

"Down the street, look there!" shouted a trooper, his voice anonymized by his gas mask's com.

They unleashed their weapons on the charging crusader as he lowered his helmet and fired up his armor's jetpack. Their plasma fire ricocheted uselessly off his armor as he barrelled towards him. The battle had started.

* * *

"How's the reprogramming working?" Gabriel chimed in over Moira's com.

"Its perfect, the EEG output exactly matches the targets," Moira replied, resting her hand on Amy, now Widowmaker's shoulder, "she'll be operational in a few minutes."

Moira watched the projected images flash before her eyes as Widowmaker stared at them in a state of auto-hypnosis. The images flashed in a rapid sequence so they registered only unconsciously. The sequence was meant to associate death, killing, domination, and unquestioning obedience with reward. Talon's scientists threw in scenes—constructed in an ambiguous manner as if they were tarot cards—of dysfunctional families, of starvation from failing states, lone gunmen shootings and the pointless violence and brutality of normal people to demonstrate the immanent collapse of civil society, rounding off the brainwashing so there was a distrust of any authority besides Talon while inculcating a sense of moral righteousness for their project.

Once processed, the reel began to play mission footage from Widow’s tactical visor. Her eyes widened as she witnessed her own memories captured as stark objective footage. They were hundreds of assassinations condensed into only a few minutes. Amy watched in horror as her own hands garroted, scewered, and hunted with her long rifle a slew of Talon’s enemies: bankers, politicians, captains of industry, NATO generals, US diplomats, CIA operatives, media moguls, and petro-aristocrats. Each time they were felled before her, Widow relived a rush of almost sexual pleasure followed by a little release.

Amy felt shocked and alienated at first but then she began to grimly accept that these were her memories.

The tape switched to images of spiders. The blue woman grimaced in displeasure.

"We chose the image of a spider for your programming because of their tendency of _sexual cannibalism,_ " Moira stated as she turned to her test subject, "it was the perfect symbol to adopt for you to kill your husband. You killed him after you made love for the first time you were back..." She leaned down to speak directly into Widow's ear. "The body was barely recognizable, you insisted it was art. An unintended side-effect of your programming was the incorporation of your sense of _aesthetics_ into your work."

A tear streamed down Widowmaker's cheek.

"You took to it quite well. After we re-engineered you, the tattoo on your back was our touch but the one on your arm was yours..."

"I remember," the dancer turned assassin replied. Her voice lost its girlish tone, her accent switched from its uncertain Benelux intonation to one that was decisively French. "I've seen enough, I'm back," Widowmaker said pulling off the electrode suction cups.

Moira's eyes shifted skeptically as the assassin rose from her seat. "You're still under the influence and vulnerable to suggestion, I insist you finish."

"It's a waste of my time," Widowmaker stated grimly.

Suddenly, Moira hunched and cringed from the sound of gunfire outside. "What's that racket?!" she cursed.

"Sir, we're under attack!"

"Get it under control and get me the next subject!" Moira barked, "Widowmaker, we have your equipment, suit up and deal with them."


	21. Chapter 21

An urgent voice crackled over Jack's com as Reinhardt swung his rocket hammer over his head and sent a Talon stormtrooper into the canal with a _thwack!_ "Come in, this is the Helix Security remnant to unknown friendly forces, we're making our way to your position!"

"They're here!" cheered Jack, "we might stand a chance after all! We just gotta take out that tin can!"

Heavy machine gun fire began to rain from the Talon APC. Jack and Torbjorn scattered from the street and took cover behind a flimsy European compact car. Reinhardt, unable to take cover in the narrow street, took the fire to his face before deploying his shield and slowly approaching the armored vehicle.

"Move up!" he roared.

Jack took position behind the shield and popped off a helix rocket at the vehicle. The rocket exploded on the APC's reactive armor causing the vehicle's suspension to rock but leaving it unscathed.

"I think there's only one way to handle this, big guy" Jack shouted.

"Right, shield coming down!"

The hulking German dropped his rocket hammer and hunched over preparing himself to take a massive hit. Quasi-suicidally, he charged the vehicle as its machinegun rounds sparked off his aging power armor. To the surprise of the crew, he impacted with the vehicle causing them to collapse from their stations. There was a pause in the fighting as the crewmen tried to get their bearings.

"He's hit us!" shouted the gunner.

"What is he insane?"

Suddenly they were rocked yet again as they felt the left side of the APC slowly rise from a straining mechanical force. The crew desperately tried to back the vehicle up but the power armored German held them in place with determination. Jack watched in wonderment as Rein taxed his armored exoskeleton to its limit by slowly lifting the vehicle onto its side. His armor's powerful electric servos whirred and choked as he slowly but surely gained leverage on the vehicle. Finally with a massive grunt he flipped the APC onto its side. The rattled crew crawled out and surrendered as a handful of Helix Raptora troopers arrived on the scene.

The area outside the house was clear. Rein hunched over huffing and puffing as Jack and Torb caught up with them.

"No need to impress us, old timer," said Jack patting him on the back, "I'd get you your hammer but, you know..."

"That was very impressive, Reinhardt," came Ana's voice over the agent's coms.

"Heh, thank you, m'lady," he said between heavy breaths.

A Helix trooper approached Jack and saluted. "Security officer Jansen repor-"

He was suddenly cut off by a brutally placed shot to his jaw, he sunk to the ground, instantly dead. The other Helix officers scattered behind cover as the surrendering Talon crew booked it.

"Its Amelie!" shouted Ana.

Reinhardt jumped into action, swinging towards the direction of the fire and deploying his shield to defend his team. The agents scanned for the sniper.

"Looks like Widowmaker is back in action," Jack grumbled, "as if this mission couldn't get any worse."

"You've got to push inside, Jack!" Ana shouted, "I can handle her, just rescue my daughter!"

* * *

The naked battered agents and Sombra sat with their hands tied, backs against the wall. Every now and then there was a horrible gun blast and a thud from the next room as their friends were methodically executed. Moira was overseeing the scene of a war crime.

A Talon stormtrooper approached, eyeing the candidates from behind his anonymous gas mask. "Which one are you processing next?" he asked.

"Good question," Moira mused, "maybe we'll ask our friend Widowmaker. Widow?"

"The most lethal," Widowmaker replied emotionlessly over Moira's com. "There are 8 outside," she added. There was the echoing crackle of sniper fire. "Correction, 7."

"Very good!" Moira laughed, "although, not without a hint of subjective judgment..."

Suddenly, there was a crash at the front door. The Talon soldiers scattered from the foyer at the sight of a massive rocket propelled hammer splintering the front door. The hammer's rockets flared as Reinhardt lifted the massive unconventional weapon for another strike. Gunfire erupted only a few rooms over. Moira turned towards the sound with a hint of concern in her eyes. She quickly steepled her hands, repeatedly touching her fingers together as she thought.

"Get me the English girl," she finally ordered, "that chronal accelerator will be an asset."

The trooper hauled Tracer up as Moira fiddled with her reprogramming equipment to the encroaching sounds of battle. "Hmm, we can't very well show you Widowmaker's footage can we? This requires some adjustments..." she pondered as Tracer struggled against the trooper's grip.

"Psst! Hey!" Mercy whispered to Sombra, "hey, Sombra!"

"What? What is it? You keep calling me that so I guess that's me."

Moira overheard. "No use with her, dissociation is _not_ a side-effect of my drug," the scientist quipped over the sound of Tracer struggling, "the stupid girl drank too much and blacked out... Hold the subject's head still and force open her eyes... There we are..."

"Can't you feel it?" whispered Mercy, "the drug, its supposed to be a mind control drug but it just restarts your brain. The hallucinations, the shadows, your bad memories, its your mind regurgitating your past, but there's too much there, too many factors for you to decide any one thing about it. Its just stuff. You decide who you are by what actions you take."

"Stop it," said Sombra shaking her head, "I'm too tired... this is like a nightmare, I just want it to end."

"You're starting over!" Mercy hissed, "take some responsibility! Think about everything that's happened tonight, its because of you! If you'd had your way, _you_ would be the one up there reprogramming us!"

Moira leaned in front of Tracer and snapped her fingers bringing her out of her drug induced auto-hypnosis. The tape had ended. Moira pulled off the electrode suction cups as her subject blinked.

"Oi, that was quite a film," she said shaking her head, "never viddied a screenplay like that, more rumpy pumpy than I thought there'd be, actually..."

The scientist grinned as she analyzed the EEG data. The outputs matched the template targets with 0.01% margin of error. According to her equipment, the reprogramming was a success. The diminutive brit rubbed her messily shaven blonde hair.

"Welcome aboard, Ricochet," Moira said extending her hand to help her up, "I need you to kill your friends."

"What me droogies over there?" she asked pointing to Mercy and Pharah.

"No, outside. They're shooting at us."

"Right! I'll get dressed and have a crack at the bratchnies."


	22. Chapter 22

Ana struggled to keep Widowmaker pinned amidst a lethal sniper duel as the power armored German tried to burst through the barricaded door. Widowmaker, however, proved to be too nimble a target—whipping herself from rooftop to rooftop and picking off the Helix remnants.

The Dutch Helix security forces cowered in the street behind cover, trying to keep the sniper at bay as approaching police and fire sirens blared in the distance.

"How the hell are we going to extract them from this?"

"With all these troops, there must be a Talon dropship nearby, Jack." Ana replied. She paused for a moment as the engines of a low flying Predator dropship roared overhead. "I think that's our ticket out..."

"Right," grumbled Jack. He rolled his aching neck and turned to Reinhardt as he picked up a stormtrooper by his face and smashed him into the ground. "Big guy! We need to get inside now!"

He nodded and powered up his armor's thrusters.

Inside, Moira continued her bizarre unethical work as an injured stormtrooper sailed into the kitchen spaying his plasma rifle. He impacted with the wall and slumped to the floor with an broken sigh. Pharah sat in the makeshift reprogramming station with her head held forcefully between the hands of a stormtrooper, her eyes held in hypnotic fixation on the unpleasant projection unfolding before her.

"They're inside," Widowmaker reported, "I'm taking cover."

"You don't say..." Moira grumbled as Reinhardt and Jack stormed into the kitchen followed by three Helix officers.

"You!" Jack roared, "turn off your freak show and hand over my agents."

The stormtrooper let go of Pharah's messily shaven head and raised his hands in surrender. Moira turned to the EEG monitor. It reported near perfect templating. She held her eyes on the screen as the wave patterns reflected off her red helmet and grinned.

"As you wish, commander Morrison..." the scientist said ominously as she turned to Jack.

He raised his chin and eyed her warily as Reinhardt helped Mercy off the ground. "She got to Pharah and Tracer..." Mercy warned with terror in her eyes.

"Amari!" shouted Jack, snapping his fingers in front of her face, "snap out of it, where are your clothes, soldier?!"

She shook her head and came to. An automatic impulse caused her to adopt a soldier like tone.

"Its the drug, sir. I took them off," she reported.

Moira frowned. "Huh, looks like you were already brainwashed, how disappointing the military got to you before I did."

"It's called discipline. Get yourself together, take a weapon and form up with Helix. We've got to commandeer that Predator before the police get here," Jack ordered. He turned to Sombra. She sat moodily hanging her head as if she were in trouble. "What's with her?"

"Not sure," Mercy replied.

Jack knelt down in front of the naked melancholic hacker.

"Hey, come with us. We'll help you find your parents," he reassured her as he undid her binds.

"He's lying, agent. You know they're dead, you're deluding yourself with my drug, dear girl."

"That's enough out of you," the old soldier barked. "Mercy, you have your stuff? Suit up." He faced the group. "And find Tracer! With all of us we should be able to take down whatever Talon throws at us next."

"Gabriel, whatever you're planning, you'd better do it now..." Moira muttered over her com as she heard the Talon dropship's engines pass overhead.

"Duck."

Moira hit the deck and the old narrow house was riddled with anti-material rounds from Gabriel's Predator. The surrendering stormtrooper ate it immediately. Reinhardt turned his shield towards the fire, covering the agents as Mercy fell back holding her ears as she screamed for the duration of the barrage. The quaint home was utterly decimated as its quirky old person furniture splintered and its books and framed pictures were annihilated by the heavy ordinance.

"I can't hold this forever!" Reinhardt shouted.

The plasma barrier cracked and shattered as the agents lay themselves flat against the floor.

"To me!" Reinhardt ordered. He gathered the agents and huddled over them as the chainguns hammered at his back. He groaned in great pain as the relentless barrage rattled away at his armor.

Finally, the noisy fire stopped.

"You OK, big guy?" Jack asked the Herculean German as he crawled out from under his protecting body.

Sombra and the cowering agents emerged from his cover in a state of bewilderment at his heroics.

"I'll feel that in the morning..." he managed to groan as he fell forward.

"Ye armor brained oaf!" Torbjorn complained, "yer gonna get yourself killed! Aw, look at the state of yer back!"

"I'm surely done for..." Reinhardt muttered.

"Cut that talk!" Torb rebutted, patting his friend on the shoulder.

"Cut the chatter! Angela, big guy needs medical attention now!" Jack ordered, "and where's O'Deorain?"

Angela booked it into the living room to try and find her bag with her Valkyrie suit.

"Hag musta pissed off..." said Tracer stepping in dressed in her punky stripper clothes and chronal accelerator. She blew a strand of her remaining blonde bangs out of her eyes. "What? Didn't ya miss me, Jack?"

* * *

Ana scoped Widowmaker slinging herself into the passenger bay of the Talon dropship as it hovered into position in front of the house.

There she saw her make a quick exchange with a black man in a Talon navy BDU.

"Bad news, Jack, our friend Gabriel Reyes is here."

Widowmaker caught her gaze through the scope, looking directly at her and lining up a shot. Ana, startled, was barely able to take cover in time as a bullet impacted with a roof tile exactly behind where her head was.

She let out an exasperated sigh from the close call. She really was getting too old for this. From her more confined cover she was able to scope Talon navy stormtroopers rappelling down and making their way to the front door.

"Jack, you've got company..."

Inside, the doctor witnessed the grim line of dead dancers and Exene lying on the floor as she changed. She tried to keep her composure and shut out the hallucinogenic effects of the drug as she dressed. Angela emerged from the living room dressed in a wingless version of her Valkyrie suit. She tossed Sombra her clothes, deliberately giving her a judgmental look. The doctor was given pause, however, as she caught sight of Tracer.

There was a manic look in her eyes. Her hastily shaven head made her look unstable.

"Lena, are you OK?" she asked apprehensively.

"I miss my upper story and me mozg feels a bit scrambled but I feel fine since I got me platties on. Hi, Sombra!"

Jack eyed her skeptically as she gave him an unnerving grin. "Why's she talking like that?" he asked, "Doesn't matter, take a defensive position. Doc, get to work on armor brains here. We need him ready for whatever Gabriel has in store..."

Meanwhile, in the basement, Moira checked her wrist, the mission timer blinked 00:00:00. She got on her com. "Gabriel! You've got to move in _now_ , the imprinting is done but the subjects are about to reach a _very_ volatile stage. We don't know how they'll react to their new programming. I need you to finish the job so I can administer sedatives!"

"What do you mean  _subjects_? Who else did you imprint?"

* * *

_Talon Research Drug, Final Stage_

Widowmaker activated her targeting visor and scoped out the house. Her targets lit up bright red through the walls of the narrow home. She saw them hunkering down in the kitchen. Pharah was suited up in Raptora armor salvaged from a dead Helix officer. The injured Reinhardt was back in action as the doctor healed him with her spare biotics. Curiously, she could see Moira crawling into the basement.

Her mind mobilized to analyze their weaknesses but she slowly felt her patient methodical thoughts start to race.

Disjointed images of her surgery—an operation for which she was supposed to be comatose—flashed before her eyes. She remembered them draining her blood and replacing it with an anti-septic smelling chemical mixture which slowed her heart. She felt the heat leave her body before it went numb. A cool and deeply reserved anger struck her as she remembered the moment she became anhedonic, totally asexual and she felt her instinct to kill heighten. Widow opened her visor and rubbed her eyes in time to oversee Gabriel exchanging hushed words with the unit's combat medic.

Gabriel approached and put his hand on her shoulder. A spurt of involuntary sexual attraction pulsed through her nervous system but she remembered with horror that her sexual organs were sensationless and vestigial. The feeling dissipated as it bounced back and forth through her nerves finding no release and turning to anger. "You've done enough, agent. Take a seat..."

He nodded to the medic then collapsed into vapors and reformed himself on the ground below with the rest of the strike team.

Widowmaker sat herself but felt the thoughts and images accelerate. The medic approached. He took her arm and regarded the device in her armor's forearm that pumped drugs directly into her augmented bloodstream—it being impossible otherwise for any doctor to find a vein.

He swapped out the empty vial and motioned to replace it with a vial of sedatives.

_Fwip!_

At that precise moment, a nano dart struck him in his unprotected neck and he fell lifessly out of the dropship onto the street with a sickening thud.

The sniper's unnatural green eyes zeroed in on Ana crouched on a nearby rooftop, methodically cocking her rifle for a second shot. She grit her teeth and fixated on the old woman’s one good eye, gazing at it so she could see her expression of deathly hatred through her scope in acute detail.

Ana remembered that face as the one she saw right before she hesitated and lost her eye. She took cover immediately as a shot rang out from Widowmaker's rifle, whizzing past her ear and shredding a piece of her hood. Ana peaked but the blue woman was gone.

"Behind you."

Ana turned in time to see Widowmaker holding her dart gun. She pumped it into her stomach and let the woman fall off the gabled roof and impact with the cobblestone.

"You're not the one I want... you never were." 


	23. Chapter 23

Gabriel's cadre of Talon stormtroopers took positions around the safe house preparing to make a tactical entry.

"Move in," Gabriel ordered.

The stormtrooper point-man crouching beside the ruined door signaled to his squad. The troopers sprung into action immediately, popping smoke grenades and flash bangs and rushing in with guns blazing. Amidst the chaos, Jack unholstered his pistol and, to Sombra's surprise, shoved it into her hands with a discerning look.

"Make your choice."

The battle for the tiny house's kitchen started in earnest. Below, Moira waited impatiently in the darkness for the surface to clear, not wanting to alert anyone to her presence.

"This should go our way," she muttered, looking over her shoulder, "only a matter of time before the sleepers do their job..."

Behind her a spidery figure uncontorted it's limbs and lowered itself from its hiding spot.

"Hello there," Widowmaker said coolly.

The gaunt scientist turned in surprise, recoiling from the sight of 8 red eyes. "Amelie!"

"There was something I learned as a ballet dancer..." she mused as she hung upside down, "its enduring a bit of pain for the sake of something with no immediate pleasure. Sometimes there's no pleasure at all, ever. The best dancers are taught to enjoy their pain, they treat the misery as a sign they're improving. Isn't that interesting?"

"Indeed," replied the scientist apprehensively as she stepped back from the dangling blue woman.

The gun battle upstairs died out as Widowmaker acrobatically flipped herself back down.

"So, there's a bit of a problem programming someone to only follow their pleasure, _n'est pas_? What if there's a bit of enjoyment from the suffering of _not_ following orders. We French have a word for such paradoxical pleasure..."

"And what is that?"

Widowmaker struck her creator with such force her helmet cracked twice, first from the strike, second from her head bouncing off the concrete floor. The scientist was felled instantaneously. Widow dragged the unconscious woman up the stairs by her collar.

Upstairs the fight was over before it even started. Tracer, now Ricochet, held Jack with her gun under his chin while Pharah manhandled Mercy. A cadre of Talon troopers were in the process of hauling a gravely injured Reinhardt out of his power armor and restraining him while Torb was held at gun point. A mess of dead Helix officers littered the floor.

Sombra stood in the corner with her back against the wall and head down as she gripped her gun. Gabriel stood in front of her, gripping her shoulders as he tried to talk her down.

" _Bon soir_ ," said Widowmaker, unceremoniously dropping the unconscious scientist to the floor with a thud, "I see I'm late to the party."

Gabriel turned and caught the cruel expression in her eyes. Widowmaker cocked her rifle and pointed it at Moira's head.

"What are you doing?" he asked darkly.

"Letting something be known..."

At that moment, Ana swayed into the room in a state of delirium. "Let me see my daughter, I'll turn myself in, I just want to know she's safe," said the injured woman undoing her Shrike mask.

Widowmaker held up her gun to block the old woman's path. Slowly, she raised her tired eyes to meet Widow's then towards her daughter's. They were filled with hate as she huffed, taking deep breathes as she held her partner at gun point."Fareeha, what are you doing?"

"I'm done being a soldier, mother. I _hate_ working for Helix, I _hate_ following orders, I _never_ wanted to fight and I was stupid for looking up to you, for ever wanting to be like you. _You wouldn't even let me._ My youth was taken away, all my creativity was flushed into following orders. I hardly ever said a word during my service because women are expected to be silent. I hardly even speak my native language, I just know enough to be bossed around by a bunch of _men_."

Ana's eyes widened then narrowed as she tried to reason with her rebellious child. "Its always hard for women in our country, especially in the military. I was proud of you for serving. But look at yourself, you're holding a gun to your girlfriend's neck. What are you going to prove with this?"

Jack panned back and forth between the mother and daughter, trying to divine the dynamic as he felt Tracer's grip on him intensify. Could Ana talk some sense into her?

"SHE DOESN'T LOVE ME!" Pharah snapped, pushing the gun into Mercy's neck and causing her to whimper, "she's _embarrassed_ of me. She hides me in her home and she's afraid of being seen with me! She thinks I'm just a brainless jock and expects me to be a private trophy while she carries on with her career! She'll just leave me for some privileged white guy and marry him, I know it!"

"You don't know what you're saying, dear. Its the drug..."

"Oi, Amelie ya brainwashed gloopy shoot," Tracer taunted over the sound of the women arguing, "whatcha doing? Now that you're all rabbitted up into you're old self, don't you want to oobivat me?"

Widowmaker regarded her with her cool calculating eyes. Behind her, however, the numbers on the coo-coo clock wobbled from her vibrating eyes. She was still under the influence of the drug. They all were. At the height of stage 4, Widow felt, however, that she'd somehow mastered the drug and was cruising on its effects with intention as it coursed through her icy veins. Tracer held her offhand machine pistol at Widowmaker.

"I'd like to _very_ _much_ , _cherie_."

"Tell you what, a little ditty interesovat, when I was at the clock tower when you killed Mondata and you had your groodies all pressed up against me like a dominatrix, I had a grazzy thought. I thought that even though I hated you, I could do you right there, seeing how I had the drop on you and all..."

The sniper exhaled calmly as she detected the growing aggression in Tracer's eyes. She was peaking as well, Widow could see it by her huge pupils and vibrating eyes. Moira gave an injured chuckle as she regained consciousness.

"Looks like they've taken to their programming better than you have, my pet."

Widowmaker stepped on Moira’s back with her vicious heel and pressed her to the ground to shut her up.

"I'll make you a deal, Gabriel," she said, "You'll get your agents back if you return the captured Overwatch agents."

Gabriel grunted disdainfully. "Interesting proposition, Amelie. But that's seven versus two and you're in no position to bargain."

His stormtroopers leveled their weapons at the rogue agent.

"Wrong, that's one." She pointed to Moira. "Two." She elegantly drifted her finger to Sombra. "Three..." she pointed to herself. "Four." She landed her finger on Gabriel himself. "And note that one of the Overwatch agents, perhaps the most dangerous, isn't captured..."

Ana exchanged glances with Widowmaker then evened her footing and put on her mask.

"That deal will seem rather fair pretty soon, I think, Agent Reaper."

Gabriel humphed at Widow’s audacity.

"Oi, I think she wants to drat."

"Stand down, Tracer, and secure your prisoner," growled Gabriel, "let the troopers handle it."

"That's a dead name, luv," she rebutted, "and I want a shive of the ptitsa me'self..."

Jack could feel Tracer’s grip tensing and loosening on him. He caught that she was grinding her teeth out of the corner of his eye. She was getting ready to move. Ana gripped her sleep dart gun, ready to draw in a flash. The agent's eyes darted around the room in their bizarre Mexican standoff. Widowmaker watched Tracer intently, 99% sure that she would make the first move. The tension reached unbearable levels as the tripping agents sweat their serotonin out of their pores.

Suddenly, there was a deafening gunshot. Their collective eyes turned in the direction of the bang. It was Sombra. She'd fired a bullet, either by accident or in panic, into Gabriel's torso. She held the gun with both hands and panted as the gun barrel smoked, unsure of what had just taken place. Gabriel held his injured rib then looked up her ominously.

"Sombra, you idiot..." he grumbled as he stumbled forward.

Tracer took that as her cue to attack and pushed Jack towards Amelie, sending him stumbling as she blinked and bolted towards her. As Tracer and Widowmaker tangled, Ana drew her dart gun and landed a sleep dart perfectly in her daughter's shoulder, putting her out like a light. Mercy immediately bolted from her captor with her arms flailing shouting "Aaaahh! I hate violence!"

"Reinhardt!" Ana shouted.

Despite her injuries, Ana held the initiative and fired her nanoboost dart from her wrist into the injured Reinhardt. He overcame his wounds in an instant and crashed through his stormtrooper captors like a bowling ball as Ana rapidly pumped him full of biotics with her rifle.

Across the room, the chrono accelerated woman impacted with Widowmaker, sending the duo into a roll. She pinned the blue assassin to the floor with an evil grin. "You're gonna get it ya malenky twat."

Using the chaos to his advantage, Jack dove for his plasma rifle and took position next to Ana.

"What the hell is she doing?" he shouted as he unloaded on the stormtroopers.

"She's starting to own who she's become," Ana replied as she kept Reinhardt in her scope.

"Can we trust her?"

Ana looked up at him before reloading and focusing on her scope. "I have to concentrate."

Gabriel saw immediately that the battle in the confined space wasn't going his way and collapsed into a cloud of smoke. He reappeared in front of Sombra and bat the gun out of her hand then took her arm forcefully.

"We're leaving..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 points if you know where Tracer’s argot comes from.


	24. Chapter 24

"I'll gut ya, ya kroovy slut!" Tracer shouted into Widowmaker's face.

Widow laughed condescendingly. "Such a dirty mouth, _cherie._ Product of a poor upbringing."

Tracer growled as she drew back her hand to strike Widow down with the butt of her gun.

The sniper saw the hit a mile away and dodged her head, using the opportunity to push Tracer off with her legs.

"Sir, they're scrambling fighters. The Dutch Air Force just gave us the order to surrender and land," the dropship pilot warned over Gabriel's com.

He tried to tug Sombra up but she resisted.

"You've really made a mess this time..." Gabe caught Moira scampering away from the fight out of the corner of his eye. "Doc, get her moving! We need her operational!"

"Reyes, I need my things. They’re in the medical station!"

Gabriel let go of Sombra’s arm and stalked through the chaos towards Moira’s makeshift reprogramming station.

”Stop right there, traitor!” Torbjorn bellowed as he slid in front of his path.

Reaper cocked his head. ”Heard you had a kid...”

Torbjorn grinned and raised his rivet gun to Gabriel’s head. “Eight actually. Quit yer yappin’!”

Torbjorn fired but hit nothing but inky vapors. Gabriel reappeared behind him, picking him up by his collar and pinning the dwarf-like man against the wall. His gun skittered to the floor.

”Huh,” Gabriel muttered as he let the engineer slump to the ground.  He picked up the gun as Torbjorn recovered and reared up to fight. Torb swung for his head with his mechanical arm but Reyes again ghosted, dodging and riveting his former colleague to the wall with his own gun.

”Fight fair ya bastard!” Torb yelled as he struggled.

”No hard feelings...” Gabriel replied as he turned his back to him.

Moira swooped over the diminutive Swede and pressed her hand on his head.

“Sleep, now,” she ordered.

A black and purple stream formed from the engineer’s head into her right hand and he was drained of his life. He nodded his head lifelessly.

Gabriel approached the beleaguered German in the midst of battling a group of stormtroopers with fisticuffs. They encircled him as he huffed and swung like an enraged bear.

”Reinhardt! It’s Reyes!” Ana called out.

”Excuse me, passing through,” Gabriel muttered. He drew one of his shotguns from his coat and shot the behemoth man in the back of the knee as he passed.

”Coward!” Reinhardt roared.

The Talon agent strode past as the stormtroopers got the better of the musclebound man.

”Damn it!” Ana cursed as she looked up from her scope.

Gabriel reached the station and ripped aside the curtain. Flat lines panned across Moira’s monitoring device as the EEG electrodes picked up signals from the ambient air. The Talon agent ripped through her medical bag looking for sedatives.

“What am I looking for?” he called to Moira impatiently.

“You’re looking for barbiturates or anti-psychotics. Any sort of diazipine or dopamine antagonist...”

“All I hear are words, doc,” Gabriel grumbled.

“Just get me Aripiprozal.”

He tossed her the vial and she clasped it in her hand then collapsed into smoke and reappeared in front of Sombra. She knelt down in front of the hyperventilating hacker and loaded the vial into a slot on the biotic delivery device mounted on her wrist. A sharp needle unscrewed itself from the device with an ominous electric whir.

Sombra eyed the device in terror as Moira held her arm.

"Hmm, that won’t do," she noted seeing the extensive razor scars on both her forearms. She forcefully turned her around and jammed the needle into her butt.

"Ow! _Qué chingados crees que estás haciendo?!_ ” Sombra cursed. 

"How long till she’s normal?" Reaper growled as the fight carried on around them.

"Should be immediate...” Moira explained calmly as the hacker continued to swear and rub her butt. She retracted the device back into her wrist.

"Side effects?"

"Potentially, pathological gambling and risk taking along with a desire for sex, shopping and binge eating..."

"Huh, so she’ll be back to normal." He leaned down and snapped his fingers in front of her face as her pupils shrank. Her face turned from bewildered terror to bitter and mean as she felt her dopamine and seratonin levels crash. "Sombra!"

She shook her head and attenuated herself to the violence around her. "You assholes!" she cursed.

"You’re up, agent. Widowmaker’s gone rogue."

"Yeah, I’ll work on it..." Sombra replied bitterly as she cloaked herself.

"Moira," said Gabriel as he placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her towards him, “find Angela. Sombra and I will shut down Widowmaker and the agents. We’ll regain control of the situation...”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this whilst slightly hungover, will edit.

Somewhere, intrepid astronauts funded by billionaires, grants from various world science agencies and mega corporations—corporations that, since the crisis, had lost a massive amount of market capitalization by being brutally short sold by various socially irresponsible quantitative hedge funds—astronauts cryogenically frozen during a more idealistic era of world unity, cooperation, and a dire need for survival against the omnic threat, astronauts in spaceships so massive, so technologically advanced, and so expensive that the unscientific, untrained, and untechnical mind of the average person would boggle at the mere mention of the multi-syllable named machinery and apparatii aboard the ship, while their feeble tongues, educated in the sciences only to a high-school level, could only fail to reproduce the vastly technical words of the principle scientific theories behind them, whilst their pragmatism would say “these ships are so expensive, why not use the money to improve Earth instead of colonizing another planet?” were flying through space towards Mars. The intrepid pioneers were, of course, hopelessly doomed. But that’s not our story. Our story is about two agents turned strippers turned agents again for opposing sides and how they, through some trickery of the mind, were currently trying to strangle each other to death.

Tracer’s eyes, vibrating, bleary and bloodshot, were blasted open by rage as wide as they could go. The quaint kitchen was a war zone, bullets whizzed everywhere as Jack and Gabriel recklessly fired at each other locked in their battle to the death. Tracer’s brain coursed with thoughts of domination and torture as she tried to overpower Widowmaker. 

“I _hate_ you!” she screamed, "you rich bloody slag. I'm happy they lobotomized ye gulliver, its more than people like you deserve."

Widowmaker stared back placidly. Slowly prying the girl’s hands from her neck with a cruel smile.

“I’m stronger than you, _cherie_. All that hate won’t let you to beat me. You’ll just exhaust yourself.”

“Need some help, _amiga_?” asked Sombra as she uncloaked next to the English girl dressed in her spy suit.

Tracer whipped her head towards her. “You!” she growled, losing her concentration.

In the split second of opportunity, Widowmaker flawlessly twisted Tracer off of her. Tracer ducked into the throw and rolled so she landed on her feet. The pilot swiped a bang out of her eyes with her wrist. Both Widow and Sombra could see she was sweating profusely as the drug powered her through its vitriolic trip.

“Sombra, eh? I wanna hear you creech too...” muttered Tracer with a grin.

“Gabe,” Sombra nervously called over her shoulder, “which one am I fighting? Tracer’s _loco_...”

Sombra waited for the answer as she regarded Tracer’s hate filled eyes. She adjusted her stance as Widowmaker stood with a hair flick.

“Both,” Gabriel replied from behind the fallen kitchen table he was using for cover as Jack shredded it with plasma fire. He tossed his empty shotguns and drew two pistols from his trench coat before coming out guns blazing.

Tracer laughed cruelly as Sombra’s eyes switched back and forth between them. A stroke of fear went down Sombra’s spine. “Look at you, begging for orders. You should viddy the hag’s picture show too. Opened me eyes, it did,” Tracer pontificated, “I forgot what it was like being a prestoopnik. I was a real terror. You reminded me in the bathroom after we had our malenky romp.”

“What did Moira do to you?” Sombra asked, hearing the streak of neurotic anger in Tracer's voice. She knew it because she'd recognized it in her own.

"World's going nowhere, luv. All the bugatty chellovecks are running it into the ground so you may as well get your jollies now. If I can bring a little more anarchy into it I wager its a good thing."

The three women stood eyeing each other for movement. It was a stand off. Sombra knew that both of them were incredibly dangerous. A drug addled murderous lesbian that could teleport and recall herself back in time was no easy foe. Neither was a woman who felt nothing and had no emotion save the smallest sliver of enjoyment from overcoming her prey. It dawned on Sombra that, for the first time, she was not the most unrestrained person in the room.

Tracer drew her gun at Sombra first. Immediately, Widow fired it out of her hand with a hip shot from her rifle. Tracer drew her second and aimed for Widow as Sombra cocked her gun with the intention of spraying indescriminate fire at the both of them. Widow twisted in the air, dodging a burst of fire from Tracer's plasma pistol and fired her grappling hook at Sombra’s wrist. It wrapped around her gun-hand causing her the drop the machine pistol. Tracer changed her target to Widow's entrapped prey. Just in time, Widow wrenched Sombra down so she was clear of Tracer’s plasma fire.

The grappling hook snapped back towards Widow as she took a wide stance. She whipped it back over her shoulder as she turned, wrapping and unwrapping the length of the rope around her body in a unusual dance. Tracer smirked as Widow twisted the rope around her body with cool confidence in the spontaneous dance performance. It was amusing to her, Tracer felt she could just shoot her at any time but cockily decided to watch the show.

"Very sexy, bet that came in handy at your old job..."

Tracer flinched when she realized Widow's dance was turning the rope into a lethal weapon as it began to carve the air with a powerful _W_ _hoosh!_ audible even over the gunfire.She decided to strike to disrupt the weapon's momentum. Widow caught Tracer's movement and unfurled the weapon like a Wushu master, raising her knee and dexterously flipping the rope under her thigh for extra momentum before sending the hook rocketing upward into Tracer’s chin. The pilot crashed to the floor stiff as a board, unconscious. She slowed the weapon and recoiled it into her wrist with a _click!_

“Idiot girl,” Widow muttered.

Out of nowhere, Sombra dove for Widowmaker, tackling her to the ground. Immediately, the brutal hacker began to relentlessly elbow her head in a style of fighting she learned to survive the streets of Mexico.

“Save your trash talking until it’s over, Amelie,” Sombra taunted in between her strikes.

Sombra suddenly felt Widow’s powerful legs wrap around her waist. She’d never fought her before and had no sense of how strong her augmented muscles were. Sombra felt herself fall forward from the sudden force as Widow pinned her to her body.

“ _No manches!_ ”

“Hush,” coaxed Widow, “you really have no idea...”

Sombra bucked and scratched desperately like a cat stuck in a bag as Widow held her body against hers.

“What the hell are you doing? If you’re back to normal why are you fighting me?!”

Widowmaker reached for her rifle, just barely out of arms reach. Sombra saw her going for it and, fearing for her life, began to struggle harder. The assassin’s cold modified muscles, however, were enough to hold her head against her breast with just one arm. She reached the rifle and took aim at Jack over Sombra’s shoulder. When Sombra proved too pesky she bucked and tightened her grip.

“Be still,” Widow ordered.

There was a nasty cracking sound in Sombra’s lower back and she was suddenly motionless.

She lined up Jack’s visor in her sight and fired. He flinched at the last moment and the bullet grazed his skull. He staggered back in pain, recovering in time to see Gabriel standing over him drawing back the butt of his pistol.

_Thwack!_

He was out like a light.

“Jack!” Ana shouted, reaching out for him as she watched him fall.

Gabriel turned in the direction of the shot in time to see Widow aiming over Sombra’s back.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growled. To his surprise but not displeasure, she hesitated and lowered her scope. “That’s what I thought...”

“Take a nap, Gabriel.”

He felt a dart puncture his rib. He fell to one knee and grumbled “figures...” then slumped to the ground, totally asleep.

“What’s your plan, dear?” Ana asked, turning to face Widowmaker’s rifle.

“Drop the gun, _now_ ,” Widowmaker ordered. “ _Alle, veet!_ ”

Sombra stirred. “Do you have any idea how mad I am at you right now for using me as a _fucking_ human shield?” she cursed. “I can’t feel my legs... if you broke my fucking back, _amiga_ , I swear—”

“Shut up,” Widow replied, strengthening her grip. “Now drop it.”

“What’s your way out?” Ana asked as she dropped her biotic rifle, “Do you hear the sirens? We’ll all be captured...”

Pharah stirred from her sleep as Reinhardt rolled into his back in pain. The silence was deafening but soon the sirens became audible to even those without the snipers ultra-sensitive hearing.

Suddenly, to Widowmaker’s surprise Moira stepped into the room with her hands up followed by Mercy and the previously dead strippers all armed to the teeth with their former captor's weapons.

“My former colleague, it seems, has learned to _raise the dead,”_ announced Moira flatly. “I’m as shocked and confounded as any scientist.”

“Shut up, ya hag,” spat Daisy as she prodded the scientist with her gun barrel.

“Alright, hands up! Nobody move!” Scarlet bellowed as she took the center of the room with her gun. The armed strippers rushed in collecting and kicking away the agent’s weapons then covered the exits. They held the room at gun point. “I want to know just what the hell is going on here!”

Using the break in the violence, Ana fearlessly went to her daughter’s side as Mercedes trained her gun on her. Pharah still had fight in her eyes as her mother affectionately placed her hand on her head. Pharah resisted her impulse to fight and was still.

“We were—” started Mercy but Scarlet immediately leveled her weapon at the doctor. She eeked and tried to hide around the corner but Skye stopped her at gunpoint.

“You’re in on it too!” Scarlet shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Mercy, “why did I have to die tonight? How did _she_ mind control _her_? What the bloody tit does it have to do with us?!”

“This is Talon dropship to strike team. Enemy fighters inbound, ETA 45 seconds, please advise,” Gabriel’s com piece blared into his unconscious brain. The desperate radio call was loud enough for the room to hear.

Moira cleared her throat. “Believe it or not, your blue friend Amy has the upper hand here.” Scarlet turned to Moira in anger and disbelief. She continued to talk with a smug grin. “She’s my creation, a living weapon. She could kill us all if she wanted to and believe me she does.” Moira turned her smug chin towards Widowmaker as she flopped Sombra off her body and stood. “So, Widowmaker, what would you have us do?”

Ana watched Amelie approach her creator as she knelt next to her daughter. Scarlet tracked the blue woman with her gun, suspicious of any treachery.

She took Moira’s neck in her hand and squeezed. Scarlet smirked and raised her gun over her shoulder as she watched the scene unfold. Sombra rolled on her back, propping herself up to watch how the former slave would handle her would-be master.

“This is for torturing and brainwashing me,” Widowmaker said coolly as she lifted the scientist off the ground by her throat. “This is for your arrogance and stupid pretension that people are your playthings.” Her grip tightened and Moira began to see a grey death fog coat her vision. “This is for taking my life and pleasures away, for polluting my mind with hatred, for making me a miserable sadist, a slave who enjoys their slavery...”

Widow watched as Moira’s heterochromatic eyes rolled into her head. She considered crushing her windpipe but at the last moment dropped her. The scientist collapsed to the ground, gripping her throat as she hacked and wheezed.

Moira turned her calculating eyes from the floor when she recovered enough to speak, leveling them on Widow as the blue woman stood tall over her. “Only a slave truly knows what freedom is...” she replied, "you should thank me..."

Widow struck her temple with the back of her fist, putting her out immediately. “Pathetic,” she cursed. She stepped over Gabriel’s unconscious body and picked the earpiece out of his ear. “This is Agent Widowmaker, I order you to land immediately, we’re coming aboard.”

“Understood.”

Sombra stood and cracked her back then hobbled over to Gabriel. She slapped his face and shook him awake. “Hey!” she said, “it’s over.”

Gabriel shook to and bore witness to the undead exotic dancers holding their weapons on him. He jerked his arm away from Sombra in frustration and grumbled. They’d lost.

“You,” Widow said turning her piercing gaze to Mercy, “heal your friends so they can move. We need to get everyone out of here.”

Mercy lowered her head and timidly mouthed OK then got to work, starting with her ex-husband.

“Jack,” she said in the impatient tone of a former wife, “we’re done here, help me with Lindholm and Reinhardt.”

He rubbed his head and Tracer’s unconscious body revealed itself to his recovering vision.

“Is Oxton OK? Is she with us?”

“I don’t know, I’ll need help with her too...”

“Hey!” Scarlet called out, again leveling her gun at Widow, “what about us?”

“You’re coming with us, of course. Unless you’d rather deal with the police,” Widow reasoned.

Scarlet eyed her confrontationally but then sighed and lowered her weapon. “At least tell us who these people are, Amy.”

Widow smirked. “They’re mine, all of them.” Scarlet frowned, she feared her friend turned assassin. “I just remembered,” said Widowmaker as she approached Scarlet with a confident stride. “I’m quite rich. I’ll pay you all quite well if you do as I say.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Daisy chimed in.


	26. Chapter 26

The resurrected strippers loaded the captured Talon and Overwatch agents into the dropship as it daringly hovered a few feet over the street.

“Enemy aircraft will be in firing range in 15 seconds!” the pilot shouted over his shoulder from the cockpit. “Move move! Fast!”

He barely had time to do a double take as Widow’s hired stripper muscle herded the agents on board covered in blood dressed only in their boudoir clothes. The agent’s were hastily seated at gunpoint by the staff of The Aristocrat on opposing benches.

"So, this is what its going to be..." Jack muttered as Gabriel and Sombra were seated across from him.

As the dropship maneuvered out of Dutch airspace, Widow opened the ship’s supply stash and pulled out a bundle of zip ties. The DJ and bartender did the honors of restraining the agent’s hands in their laps and fastening their seatbelts.

“Um, better do double or triple for the big guy,” Exene muttered to Rosco as he approached Reinhardt. She noted his biceps as he held up his arms to the skinny DJ to be restrained. “Actually, double octuple.”

“I hardly see why this is necessary,” Mercy complained as Exene restrained her hands, "I'm not one for violence."

"Not the kind you do with your own hands," Moira noted cooly from across the aircraft, "though even there you'd insist you were trying to help..."

Widow held onto a overhead bar as the aircraft fired its thrusters. Sombra looked sidelong at her butt then rested her head on Gabriel’s shoulder. If Widowmaker was still Amy she might have tried to pinch it. She was doubly persuaded not to when she considered that Mercedes was eyeing her every move with a deep and vengeful hostility. There was a lot of bad blood on this particular aircraft.

Jack regarded Gabriel’s Navy BDU and officer trenchcoat. Evidently, Talon’s Q directorate had a surface fleet.

“Navy special forces, huh?” Jack grumbled, “didn’t know Talon security and counter-intelligence needed ships.”

Sombra eyed Jack with a vicious protective look from Reaper’s shoulder. What a power couple.

“Talon’s expanding. You should consider joining, friend,” Reaper extended to Jack albeit his voice oozing with malice.

“Old saying: I wouldn't be in no club that would have me for a member,” Jack retorted bitterly, “bit of a lone wolf these days.”

Gabriel chuckled. “You sound like the gay cowboy. Heard from him recently?”

Jack watched Sombra play with Gabriel’s fingers with her tied hands. They looked like jailbird lovers. He could only imagine what the substance of their bizarre relationship was.

“No.”

The strippers exchanged glances in silent recognition of the enormous quantities of shade passing between the benches. Everyone seemed to know and hate each other.

“Um, hey there big guy...” said Daisy sounding achingly horny as she approached Reinhardt with her gun.

“Why, hello...” he replied skeptically as she sat herself on his knee.

Widowmaker shifted then approached the dropship pilot. She held her gun to the back of his head.

“Take us to Annecy, these are the coordinates,” she demanded, “ _compris?_ ”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the pilot flatly. He had experience being commandeered.

Moira sat across from Tracer with her chin up and eyes closed. She was rethinking everything that had gone wrong. Tracer leaned forward towards her after Exene did her restraints. They'd maintained an eerie eye contact as Exene worked. Exene recognized her anger in her queer and working class friends but it was somehow magnified exponentially by the drugs into a frothing rage. Now slightly more calm, Tracer was exhausted from hate though it still burned inside her.

“What did you do to me? Go on, tell me ya bog-trotter. Tell me! What did you put in my head? Why’s the Egyptian slag gone bloody normal?” Tracer glared at the red headed woman with cold hatred until it burst hot. “ANSWER ME!” she roared.

She struggled furiously against her restraints, kicking and flailing before grabbing her head in exhaustion and panting as she stared bug eyed at the wall. Mercy gave a pained sigh as she watched her fit.

“The damage you’ve done, Moira. How could you ever have called yourself a doctor?” Mercy stated with cold disdain, “Psychological damage is the worst kind. It _never_ heals.”

Moira lowered her chin and opened her sinister eyes. Tracer swallowed and slowed her panting when she sensed she was about to speak.

“It’s just you, my dear,” Moira replied enigmatically, “I didn’t add anything that wasn’t already there, same with the Egyptian girl.”

At that moment a Talon cruise missile impacted with the remains of Sombra’s safe house, destroying Moira’s mind control equipment and any trace of the drug. Tracer leaned back and rest her head against the wall. She prayed in misery that the drug would wear off soon. "The world makes me sick, I just want to burn it down. I thought I'd let this all go when I threw out my stupid politics and became a bloody pilot..."

Sombra humphed quietly then lowered her eyes as she felt herself become introspective. She'd been bluffing in the bathroom when she said they were alike but she suddenly felt an affinity for Tracer. She wondered what Moira had stirred up in her mind to bring up Tracer's anarchic rage. Exene placed her tattooed hand on Tracer's shoulder in sympathy. The gesture surprised her but she seemed to calm. What would come from their relationship?

“Please don’t be angry at me. I can improve your Arabic,” Ana tried to assure her daughter.

Pharah leaned forward with a pouty frown.

“Why didn’t I learn it as a kid?” she asked angrily. “Maybe I could have been a captain like you if I'd spoken it better.”

“It was work and travel, dear. You took to English much better and your father and I didn’t want to force it.”

Pharah grit her teeth.

“Who is _he_ anyways?” she snipped, “I’m half Native American right? What tribe was he from? Am I a Muslim? Why don’t I know anything about myself?”

Moira opened one eye and raised an eyebrow as she overheard the conversation. She whispered to Gabriel, “the programming is there but it’s latent. This could be the way to radicalize her...”

Gabriel humphed.

“I’ve told you since you were a child. He’s a member of the Acoma Puebla tribe,” Ana replied patiently, “and you’re a Muslim if you choose to be. It means one who submits to Allah. I’ve always left it up to you to choose and learn about your identity, my dear. It’s a harder path and I’m sorry but you’ve always been stronger for it.”

“I just don’t know,” Pharah said shaking her head, “I’ve only ever followed orders while I figured everything out for myself...”

The transport bay was silent save the dull roar of the aircraft’s engines and the periodic shake from turbulence as the aircraft continued to gain altitude.

Suddenly, Ana shuffled and let out a sigh, breaking the strange silence. “You can always ask me,” her mother reassured her. However, she felt her daughter was uncompelled.

Mercy bowed her head as it occurred to her that her girlfriend was more complicated than she ever imagined. She placed her bound hands on Pharah's lap.

Suddenly, the voice of a proud Nigerian man speaking received English chimed in over the dropship’s radio.

“Agent Widowmaker, my sensors indicate you’re with us but you’re not returning to base. Explain yourself.”

It was Akande. The Talon agents could tell from his deep voice that he wasn’t happy.

“I’m en route to my chateau.”

“You have 7 Overwatch operatives on board. Why are you not returning them to us?”

“I am renegotiating the terms of my employment with Talon. I’m letting all the captured agents go, Talon _and_ Overwatch.”

There was a long pause.

“Yes, but why?”

Widow inhaled slowly. “To prove that I can.”

“Allegiance is not negotiable. What you are doing amounts to treason.”

“Then shoot me down.”

“Gabriel, the reprogramming was a failure, yes?”

“No sir, but she’s still malfunctioning.”

Sombra took her head off Gabriel’s shoulder and cast him a shady look for his comment.

"Moira, why isn't she following orders?"

“She’s resisting it,” Moira added, “the imprint was successful but she’s choosing to disobey, even if it tortures her.”

“You still think of me as a machine—Talon’s property,” Widow spat, “I’m _not_ property. If you ever try to reprogram me again with your drugs and foolish devices, I’ll assassinate every single one of Talon’s agents, your council and it’s high command. Your little project will disappear over night.”

“Ugh, just let her do what she wants, Akande,” Sombra groaned, “she’s her own thing now.”

“Turn the ship around,” Akande demanded, “that is a direct order.” Moira watched Widowmaker intently. “Programming or no, no Talon agent defies a direct order from the council. You _will_ be held accountable.”

Scarlet watched Widowmaker balk. The assassin felt her head swim as she became nauseous. Even thinking about disobeying her programming immediately sent her spiraling into a painful depression. How she wished she was Amy again, oblivious to her programming, floating about in a dream where it barely intruded and even made her life simpler at times. With the drug’s effects wearing off and the paradoxical sense of self-mastery it provided waning, she struggled to resist.

“Amy... I mean, Amelie,” said Scarlet, “do what you desire not what you enjoy.”

“What does a stripper know?” Moira chided.

“Make your choice, agent.”

Widowmaker let out a pained sigh then spoke. "My conditions are final. I'm releasing the captured Overwatch agents. I'll only return our agents on the condition that I remain a member of Talon. I will be employed as a _real_ field agent not an asset and there will be no repremandation. Though, you are certainly free to try when I return."

There was silence of deliberation on the other end of the line.

"Fine. You have your deal, but you will submit to questioning when you return. Doomfist out."

"Well, that's that," announced Torbjorn with a sigh. He relaxed and got comfortable for the trip. "I suppose we can't convince you to join the good guys, Amelie."

Widowmaker used the distraction to turn away from the extreme displeasure rocketing through her nerves from swindling her former masters. She leveled her surgical gaze on the Swedish man. He suddenly stiffened.

"I don't think you can afford it," she replied.

Jack humphed in contempt. "You free yourself from slavery just to become a mercenary for the same masters?"

"It's my choice, _n'est pas_?" she rebutted, "I think I'll be working for them as long as it suits me." She approached Jack and ran her finger over his shoulder. "But I can be persuaded for the right price..."

“Was she like this as a stripper?” Jack asked incredulously.

“Pfft, obviously. What do you think?” Daisy answered.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna get a lot of edits. If it seems unreadable, come back in like a day.

Widowmaker sashayed away from Jack to the front of the bay and grabbed ahold of the support bar above her head as the dropship continued to make its course.

As he watched Widowmaker’s incredible ass depart, he recounted some of his seedy strip club adventures from when he was on furlough in his early 20’s. In the Philippines at a strip club in Manila, which at first seemed a bit too unhinged for Jack’s small town manners, a stripper persuaded him to let her buff a “dirty” service medal on his dress uniform with her trimmed patch of dye-job blonde pubic hair. He would later watch the particularly talented dancer pick up a beer bottle with only her kegel muscles and, in the same night, squeeze her own breast milk right in the face of one of his squad mates for not tipping. The confident hustler turned him and after that he often found company with that lovely class of athletic, confident and entrepreneurial lady for entertainment.

Widowmaker turned and looked out from under her raised arm regarding her captives with cold indifferent eyes as she held herself stable on the dropship bay’s overhead bar. She stared unflinchingly as the dropship vibrated. It was hard for him to imagine a rich ballerina turned assassin dancing for money in a seedy dive. She was nothing like the dancers here or any he’d ever known. How could this have happened?

The dark beauty’s indifferent objectifying gaze met Jack’s and he found his thoughts frozen in time and place. He closed his eyes and rested his head back meditatively.

The thin pressurized air was starting to make Jack’s ears pop. He heard the defeated agents speaking to each other in low curt whispers, barely audible over the engine and the sound of blood pumping in his ear, but soon that dropped off. If Jack was affected by the cabin pressure at this altitude, the other agents would find it withering. He opened his eyes and unexpectedly met the Amelie’s yellow staring irises. Immediately, he averted his gaze and inspected the other agents. They were all asleep or resting with their thoughts.

“You know, the minister you assassinated before you went AWOL and became a stripper, your husband knew him. Might of triggered your little episode,” he said turning his eyes to the ceiling.

It was the only way he could address her.

“I care little for my target’s relations, Mr. Morrison,” she replied coolly.

“How do you know you won’t go AWOL again? And when you do, Talon’s going to scoop you up and scramble your brain. They’d love to make you a robot again.”

“Well, I’m confident your agents will come and set me straight. Although, once you do, you may be forced to admit I was never a good person.”

Jack grunted disdainfully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever does that mean, indeed?” Widowmaker sighed with melancholic flatness, “you simply don’t and have never known me.”

Jack sat thinking about what to say. In the blanket of white noise, it was almost as if they were completely alone. The exhausted and sleeping agents surrounding him failed to register that Jack and her were even speaking. Widowmaker, however, seemed totally unaffected.

“The Amelie I knew wasn’t a killer,” Jack finally replied.

“Have you ever considered, Mr. Morrison, as a man who follows orders, that you are sometimes more free when someone decides for you?”

Jack humphed out a little disdainful laugh. “That’s your brainwashing talking.”

“I loved Gerard more than you will ever know, but I believe—I know now—that in order for me to even gain the possibility of becoming free, I had to kill apart of myself,” she said with icy confidence as she glowered at the old commander, “I became capable of so much more after that day, even as a slave. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

A little smile grew on her lips as she continued to pierce him with her eyes.

“How do you know I didn’t want to kill him all along and all I needed was an excuse? Don’t tell me, Mr. Morrison, you’ve never wanted, even in passing, to kill someone you loved? What if you just did it?”

Jack’s eyes fell from the ceiling to Angela’s ear and one of her remaining blonde locks. To his surprise Angela lifted her head. She’d been listening.

“You’re deranged,” she muttered disdainfully. The doctor caught herself and tried to take a reasonable tone though she was clearly tired and desperate. “This is abnormal thinking, Amelie. If you’d just let us help you—we can all see you’re suffering.”

Widowmaker tisk-tisked as she slowly leveled her gaze at the doctor. “Oh no, _cherie_ , I really am something else, and there’s no going back. Do you simply think I woke up after I killed him, shocked at what I’d done? No, I built up the courage all week to fulfill my orders. There’s no mistake, I am haunted by it, I’ll live with the fact of what I’ve done forever. But I’m not the victim...”

Dr. Ziegler hung her head for the second time that day in resignation that Amelie’s transformation into Widowmaker was complete. To her, she was nothing more than her programming, her behavior a collection of inhibited and excited impulses regulated by Talon’s stabilizing chemicals in her bloodstream and the neural machinery implanted in her brain.

“You can’t tell me you wanted this, Amelie. Don’t you want to feel again? Feel pleasure? Love? Anything?” Mercy asked as she timidly regarded her hands, “Don’t you want to be whole again?”

Widowmaker’s lip curled in apparent contempt. “What’s whole?” she asked in a derisive tone. She turned her eyes towards Sombra who sat resting her head on Gabriel’s shoulder with a little frown. “Besides, it’s not that I can’t feel, it’s that I feel... differently... _c’est son propre plaisir_.”

* * *

The dropship touched down at Chateaux Guillard’s helipad. After finishing the landing procedure, the pilot nonchalantly flipped a sequence of switches to shut the massive aircraft down from memory. He then took off his helmet and leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head to relax and collect himself knowing he would be returning to a shit show at Talon HQ. Widow approached the cockpit, her heels clicking on the aircraft’s metal walkway. She blew by him and leaned over his lap in the high pilot’s seat to peer suspiciously out the cockpit window. 

“Uh, we’re here,” noted the pilot as he tentatively lowered his hands to his lap, “Further orders?”

Ths beautiful blue girl continued to peer over him with little regard that she was almost touching him. He caught an accidental whiff of her hair. She smelled chemical or anti-septic, like solvent.

“Come inside,” she replied finally after eyeballing the landing zone to her satisfaction.

She was on alert for Talon treachery. When she was sure it was clear she stepped briskly into the transport bay. She extended her arms to the weary passengers.

“Welcome to my home,” she said with a barely-there tinge of excitement. She nodded to the dancers. “You can bring them all inside.”

Her stripper henchmen herded the agents out onto a helipad sitting adjacent to Amelie’s imposing 17th century mansion. The morning was overcast and cool, made especially brisk from the nearby sea breeze. The sun shone intermittently through the breaks in the cloud layer adding an unreal quality to the tableau that grew and faded as the clouds passed. It seemed to wash out details of the light as if they were in an old painting. Indeed, the scenic bay and the surrounding mansions that dotted it seemed out of time, isolated from the world.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jack asked once he and his agents were lined up on the pad.

“You can undo their restraints,” Widowmaker announced with an aristocratic little gesture. “All of you are free to stay or leave. You can kill each other for all I care. This property is quite private. I only ask that my friends to join me in the library so I can pay them. I have all the equipment needed to route money to your accounts if you tell me where to send it.”

The strippers exchanged looks of intrigue and anticipation.

“Well, what did we make?” Scarlet asked.

Widowmaker pouted and shook her head slightly before she answered. She suddenly resembled Amy a little more. “What is a lot? 5 million euro? 10 million?”

“Oi, she doesn’t even know,” muttered Tracer with a melancholic laugh as her restraints were undone by Exene.

As Sombra rubbed her wrists upon their being freed from their restraints, she noticed Widowmaker regarding her.

“When I’m done, Sombra. Join me in the master bedroom,” announced Widowmaker as she turned towards the house with an almost girlish twirl. The strippers, Exene and Rosco followed her in. Daisy gave Reinhardt a come-hither look. He looked left then right then pointed at himself. She nodded and he followed her into the mysterious chateau with a boyish look of genuine curiousity.

Widowmaker's comment solicited an eyebrow raise from Gabriel.

“What a privilege...” Sombra muttered to herself, eyeing the chateaux with disgust.

Gabriel interrupted Sombra’s contemptuous scanning by placing his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you both at Talon HQ. Make sure she comes back,” he ordered.

“I really think _she’s_ in charge, Gabe.”

“Right... but there’s still chain of command. Just don’t be long..,” Gabriel muttered before collapsing into inky vapors and piling off the pad.

Moira did the same after observing the exchange and flowed off the scene as a cloud of ominous smoke. She was eager to depart since her unwilling test subjects were free.

“Bloody ghosts, makes you wonder if they were able to do that the whole time,” Tracer muttered as she watched the trailing vapors depart with extreme distrust.

“Team, lets move out. There’s nothing left to be done here.”

Sombra watched the exhausted ragtag Overwatch agents assemble in front of their would be commanding officer. She felt a twinge if hatred shoot up her spine and swaggered right up to him.

“You got something to say, agent?” Jack growled pushing his chin in her face.

She grabbed his jacket collar. “You think I’m some lost little girl you can manipulate? You promised to find my parents, you prick.”

“Yeah? Like you’re not manipulative trying to brainwash my agents. Should’ve thought of that before you huffed Moira’s drug.”

“It’s sick,” Sombra spat, “to give me hope.”

“You’re pretty sicko yourself, luv," Tracer interjected, grabbing Sombra’s arm and wrenching it off Jack, "How dare you confront him with all that, with the things you’ve done—you humiliated me!”

Tracer reared up to slap Sombra but Pharah caught it.

“I don’t know why I did that...” Pharah admitted then let go of Tracer's hand.

Sombra cackled. “Ooh, looks like someone’s got a little Talon in them after all.”

"Everyone just calm down. The drug exacerbates trauma as a way of making its target more suggestible. We've all been through a lot. Lets just go home and try and heal the damage," Mercy reasoned, "but _you,_ Sombra, _you_ should think about how much Talon really values you if you're seen as so expendable. I would have a conversation with Moira, if I were you."

"Thanks for the professional advice, _mija_ ," Sombra replied mockingly, "you're a fun fuck, by the way."

Mercy scowled. "God, she's  _foul_."

"You too Pharah," she said before sticking her obscene tongue out at her, "call me up when you two need a unicorn."

Jack blinked as he tried to reckon with what Sombra was saying. Suddenly, he realized that Pharah was about to go in for a punch. He body blocked her at the last moment.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he shouted, "we're _done_ here." Jack turned to Sombra. "Just get out. Your mistress is waiting."

"Yeah, no problem, I was just leaving," Sombra muttered bitterly.

"You think you're hot shit, Sombra, but you couldn't even do me on the table without going like _that_ ," Tracer taunted snapping her fingers in front of the villainous hacker's face. Sombra recoiled her neck looking somewhat hurt. "What? Got a problem with me? Do I make you nervous?" Tracer added with a condescending giggle. " _Slag._ "

"OK, reign it in," Jack muttered as Sombra turned to leave with a hateful scowl. He openly wondered if Moira's reprogramming had made the lesbian's personality more toxic somehow.

"Get stuffed," Tracer called after Sombra with a dismissive hand wave. "Really, she goes in a second flat..."

Ana regarded her crestfallen daughter and sighed. She wasn't the same, yet the problems they were confronting were indeed there all along. How to undo the damage from Moira's drug? The wizened sniper's eyes turned to the windows on the mansion's upper floors. She briefly wondered in which room it was that Amelie assassinated Gerard.

"So strange to have our enemies this close..." she noted wistfully.

"Well, I'm not sticking around to see if their hospitality runs out. Where's the big guy?" Jack grumbled.

* * *

Sombra grumbled to herself to shut out Tracer’s taunts as she made her way to the rear entrance of the great mansion. Sombra sighed as her eyes walked themselves over the unimaginably expensive and tasteful decor. The sight of wealth and opulence always put her on edge, it prodded a nerve in her gullet that reminded her of being a poor and unwanted orphan. Then there was the smell, the house smelt of moths and old wood, slightly damp from the sea air. Now that there were inhabitants, however, the automated heat in the old mansion was coming on, changing the air so the aromas were less dank making them slowly more warm and inviting. Sombra had never smelt anything like that this place before, it inscribed in her mind that this was a unique place: Widowmaker’s private world. Sombra understood what being here meant and comprehended the tacit aggression in the strange woman’s hospitality.

The hacker overheard Amelie and her former co-workers exchanging account details and briefly considered intercepting the transaction but passed it by out of exhaustion. She plopped herself on an antique couch to rest her eyes but was soon unintentionally asleep; that was until she heard the sound of wary footsteps and felt the presence of vengeful eyes on her.

Sombra winced and opened her eyelids. It was the strippers with Mercedes at the lead.

“Heyy, _amigas._ No hard feelings, right?”

“You... are an evil woman,” the Spanish girl said darkly.

Sombra leaned back with a smirk. The vengeful strippers glowered at the hacker confrontationally. Suddenly, Mercedes slapped her across the face with the back of her hand. Sombra slowly turned her head back to her and glowered at her from under her brow.

“Heh,” Sombra chuckled, “you done?”

Mercedes went for another strike but suddenly became aware of Widowmaker regarding the scene from the doorway and she stopped herself.

“Sombra, come with me...” Widow ordered. The blue dancer turned keeping Sombra in the corner of her eye before leaving.

Sombra and the girls noticed it, Widowmaker somehow seemed warmer and there was a saucy intonation to her voice. Perhaps it was being in her family home that made her more comfortable. Whatever the case, she had plans for Sombra the stripper's didn't dare interfere with. They turned their eyes back to the untrustworthy hacker as she returned an impish look. She was untouchable.

“You’re a git, Sombra,” Scarlet added for good measure.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” Sombra replied cattily as she arose, “but, I’m not going to...”

* * *

Sombra took her time climbing the grand staircase and wandered the empty halls aimlessly for the express purpose of keeping Amelie waiting. Upon entering the master room, Sombra witnessed Widowmaker gazing at the ceiling from her king-sized palias royal panel bed. She'd changed. Widow was dressed in sheer white cotton underwear, her hastily shaven hair was corrected into an ultra short pixie cut with little tendrils over her ears. It looked like she’d been twisting in her bed as she waited.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Everyone gets their own room...” Amelie mused as she reached for the ceiling and regarded her hand.

Sombra inspected the ornate room. An 18th century oil painting of spaniels, a 17th century baroque cabinet of ebonized wood from Sweden, upon it sat a small bronze statue of Buddha pilfered from a Vietnamese temple in the 1850’s by one of Amelie’s great great grandfathers on an imperial journey. It reminded her of the empress’s quarters her last night with Lucio. She found the opulence deeply off putting.

“What do you want, Widow?” Sombra huffed resentfully.

Widowmaker arose and approached Sombra confidently as she played with her fingers behind her back. She stood in front of Sombra, leaning in and cocking her head at her. Sombra swallowed at her sudden closeness and briefly felt intimidated. Now she understood that Widow was much much stronger than her. But there was something else too, Widow was in her element. She was acting like a rich girl, everything was at and for her pleasure.

Sombra narrowed her eyes at her. "What are you doing?" she asked in a testy tone, "you _hate_ me."

"Playing... with an idea..."

Sombra raised her eyebrows at the blue French woman questioningly. Widow took it as rejection and immediately her body became closed. She let her hands hang in frustration as she sighed through her nose. She gave Sombra a hurt look. "I don't know, I feel like myself, more open, maybe... I wanted to try something with you."

"Huh, sounds like you want to fuck me, _amiga_. I thought after last time—"

" _That_ was different. I was a slave."

"Aw, what, you didn't like it, _pobrecita_?" Sombra taunted callously, "From the sound of it, I think I gave you a pretty good time.. _._ "

The dancer turned assassin smiled at Sombra with a hint of melancholy. "No, I liked it just fine. I just think I might try my hand at bossing _you_ around this time, _n'est pas_?"

A moment passed before Sombra realized she was staring at Widowmaker’s artistic body. The assassin took that as her cue. Widow closed the space between them and held Sombra's shoulders lightly as she extended her elegant neck to kiss. They locked lips. Widow’s saliva stung like high proof alcohol, it felt almost paralytic while her touch was draining—it took the heat out of Sombra’s skin. Sombra’s eye’s almost immediately felt bleary as she connected with Widow’s intoxicating unnatural body. Widow raised her hand to delicately hold Sombra's chin as they kissed but suddenly the hacker felt resistant.

"No," said Sombra, putting her hand on Widow's chest and pushing the taller woman back, "it's this place..."

Widowmaker gave her an amused grin and blinked at her incredulously. "What? I'm not going to kick you out."

The aloof comment sent a spike of anger and sadness into Sombra's brain. She detected Widowmaker's trademark cruelty in her grin.

"Gee, thanks Amelie," she spat suddenly looking immensely hurt, as if she was going to cry. " _No_ , you can't just invite me to this house and have your way with me. I'm _not_ a plaything. I have a policy, I don't fuck rich white girls unless I'm the boss. Got that?"

Widowmaker regarded Sombra with an indifferent stare. In her mind she was figuring how she could make the orphan girl more agreeable. She humphed and sauntered over to the room's imposing dresser as she tapped her lip. Atop the antique piece were numerous framed photographs from Amelie's family and past life: a portrait of Amelie looking intimidatingly beautiful with her glamorous ballet troupe all sporting chignon buns, a picture of her in a ball gown covering her mouth and laughing at a hedge-fund manager's joke at a fundraiser with Gerard's hand around her waist, a candid picture of her looking bored and aloof resting a desert fork on the tip of her lips as she dined at a Michelin 3-star restaurant in Paris, an autographed photo of her as Odile from her Swan Lake performance. In every photo she looked flawless and stunning. She returned to Sombra with a look of slight embarrassment holding a photograph.

"This is my grandmother, she was Algerian. When I was a child my hair was curly, my skin could tan. Age changed that, I suppose... then there was Talon."

Sombra regarded the photograph of the brown skinned woman skeptically then looked up at Widow. "What? Am I supposed to be _impressed_ with that?" she said in a hostile tone, "you married a right-wing minister, your wealth, this house was probably built on the backs of slaves and _you could tan?_ Fuck you."

"Oh la la, Sombra. What do you know about me?" replied Widowmaker with a frown. She tossed the photo on the bed and sat down with a pout, looking past Sombra dolefully. "Gerard had his politics but he loved me..."

Sombra regarded the saddened girl’s striking features, passing her eyes over her and letting them linger on her interesting details. Even the way she tossed the picture was graceful in its carelessness. Amelie's cyanotic body, honed by decades of ballet dancing, was a strange combination of supple and taut. As she rested her elbows on her knees, Sombra could see her ribs yet she was hardly just a thin woman, her core muscles were strong. Her body was the image of feminine strength and grace. Sombra regarded her forehead and lips then passed her gaze down to her toned butt—its pleasing fat squished as she sat on the bed.

Sombra took a breath and relaxed herself. Maybe Amelie was a little mixed after all. In her mind, there was no way a white person could have an ass like that.

The hacker became aware that Widow knew she was inspecting her. She shifted her eyes and took off her coat before seating herself close to her. Widowmaker shifted slightly as she felt the skin on Sombra's arm touch hers.

"You can feel more now? Now that you're in control?" Sombra asked.

"No, its like my body is a doll. If emotion strikes, I can choose to wear it but its a mask. I'm just choosing what I respond to, its a performance."

Sombra tapped her lip as she regarded the photographs on the dresser. "Why do I think... it was always like that for you?"

Widowmaker turned to Sombra and cracked a little smile as she passed a tendril of hair over her ear. "I figured out how Moira's little machine works, _ma souris_. It takes whats most dangerous about you and intensifies it. Mind control is only part of it..."

The two vicious women stared forward as their arms touched. Sombra felt a little electricity on her touching skin as Widow's cool skin touched against hers. She swallowed as she felt something drop from her lungs to her pelvis. Their finely tuned sociopathic brains were alight calculating what the other would do, what the other was expecting, how their mutual desire for superiority and domination would play out sexually or otherwise.

Amelie tentatively touched the palm of Sombra's hand and she felt oddly pacified. Maybe this could be a little truce. Widowmaker's past life was as an immensely entitled woman, Sombra considered for a second that it was perhaps a privilege she wanted her.

Suddenly, Amelie acted.

"You owe me for that dance, Sombra," she said as she gripped Sombra's hair. Sombra gave a little gasp, it was light but forceful, she could tell Widow was a little mad. "You thought you could just have your way with me? What if I hadn't called the guard?"

"Ah, _amiga_. It was—"

"Shut up," ordered Widow as she locked her cold lips with Sombra's. She returned the kiss, indulging it, but with the glimmer of a tear in her eye. Widowmaker suddenly pulled back when she felt the tear on her face, Sombra followed her with her lips, still trying to kiss her, but caught herself. "Ugh, you turn into an orphan girl the moment you have to face what you've done wrong."

"Hey! I get it," Sombra complained, flashing her a guilty pout, "I know you've found your power or whatever but I've had a rough time. I want to relax."

Widowmaker brushed aside a lock of hair on Sombra's cheek. "That was my plan exactly, _cherie..._ "

Widow drew her close, but the two women paused a few times, starting and stopping, detecting the other's hesitation as they closed the distance between their lips.

Finally, they connected and kissed. Sombra felt Widow's cool lush lips on hers and felt a wave of relaxation go down her spine.

When it was clear Sombra wasn't going to pull away, Widow let out a relaxed sigh through her nose and let her kissing become more passionate. Suddenly, however, Widow undulated and pulled away then snuggled her head under Sombra's neck. Sombra wrapped her arms around her in a display of spontaneous affection as Widow nervously played with her own hair in her arms.

"I don't really feel anything... but I want to..." she admitted, "I want to with you because you don't care who you're with."

Sombra smirked and nonchalantly scanned the room before looking down at Amelie, who seemed suddenly cowed. She suddenly seemed to have control of the situation. "Yeah, I go for a lot of people..."

"I'm used to being with a lover," Widow sighed as she regarded Sombra's bicep and healthy brown skin. As she listened to Sombra's beating heart, Widow felt herself become intimidated and jealous of her sexuality and frustrated with her own anhedonia. She looked up. "I know you'll have no problem with me but I want to be in control."

The hacker humphed.

Widow reached up and they began to make out peacefully before she sat up and leaned in to unzip Sombra's catsuit. Sombra watched her outfit become undone as Widow kissed her down shoulders to the nape of her neck and drew the zipper down. The hair on the back of the hacker's neck stood up as she felt Widow's cool lips and soft breath on her bare skin. Sombra sighed as she let herself be the object of desire for someone else for a change. She allowed herself to be pushed back as Widow undid her suit and planted her cool kisses on her breasts and tummy. Sombra took her head in her hand as she worked her way down. When Widow reached the Sombra's pelvis she playfully manipulated the zipper as she kissed around her inner thigh, pressing her fingers down on her pubic bone in the space just below the zipper. Sombra rotated her pelvis up so the pressure would be closer to her clit and gave a little sigh. Widow stopped and watched Sombra gyrate her pelvis upward towards her hand.

Suddenly, Sombra opened her eyes. "You stopped..."

Widow hmm'd in amusement and preceded to fully undo the hacker's black and purple cat suit, pulling it past her pelvis to further expose her lingerie. Sombra shifted and pulled her arms out of the suit to help her impromptu lover. Delicately with her cold hands Widow pulled her underwear past her knees, revealing Sombra's shewn pubic hair, trimmed for her stripper gig. Her pierced clit was fairly easy to divine for Widowmaker despite her lack of experience. She lowered her head between Sombra's legs as she ran her hands down Sombra's torso stopping to hold her hips. Widow's cold touch caused Sombra to shudder slightly but she automatically spread her legs with an aroused sigh in anticipation.

The assassin's keen senses detected the tell-tall sign of blood rushing to Sombra's pelvis, turning the skin around her labia a hint of red as she kissed and delicately played with her clit. Her smell hit Widow's nose, from their limited foreplay she was already fairly aroused. To Widow, Sombra's motions and reactions were of someone incredibly accustomed to and experienced with sex, everything was flowing naturally for her. Widow was intrigued by her responsiveness and, for the first time, understood the reason why people had sex with Sombra: her body was _fun._

"You're so easy, _cherie_. I saw it with the agents," Widow mused.

Sombra twisted and raised her hands to her breasts to look at Widow over her arm as if she was a resting meerkat. Widow could see her pupil's were wide with stimulation. "Oh yeah?" she replied with a hint of self-consciousness. She rolled her eyes away. "I'm fucking gay, _amiga_. I'm not hard."

Again, Widow hmm'd and ignored her. She began to gently suck on Sombra's clit. Immediately, Sombra twisted and arched her back then held Widow's head in a fit of passion. She resisted the urge to close her legs as she felt her clit touch Widow's cold wet tongue. Her legs quivered slightly from the unusual sensation. After a few heated breaths through her teeth to the rythm of Widow's movement, her breathing became aroused and even. As she got used to the sensation, she untensed and relaxed on the bed. She let go of Widow's head and pulled off her bra to expose her sensitive breasts. A pleasing sort of narcissistic thought passed through Widow's head as she noticed Sombra's breasts: she found them and her to be pretty, the pesky hacker was hers and she was getting off on her. A little shot of confidence went down Widow's spine and settled in her pelvis where she felt the faintest glow.

Sombra bit her lip as she tweaked her engorged nipple. With her other hand, she propped up her hip to regulate the pressure of Widow's tongue. The sniper allowed her to get lost in the sensation and play with herself for a moment. Almost maliciously, however, Widow increased her pressure on her clit to see how she'd respond. Sombra bucked and curled herself up, again taking Widow's head in her hands.

"Ah, slow! That's... gonna bring me close..." she murmured.

Widow opened her strange yellow-green eyes and gazed at her confrontationally. Sombra locked eyes with her from across her flexing tummy and longingly ran her hand through her hair as she licked. After a moment, she began to push Widow's head into her pussy to increase the stimulation. Widow obliged her causing Sombra to crane her neck back and strain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Sombra murmured as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Her chest began to heave more turbulently, rising and and falling rhythmically as her pelvis periodically bucked with sudden spasmodic movements. When she felt herself at the precipice and realized there was no controlling Widow's tongue, Sombra grabbed the pillow behind her head and tensed. Suddenly, she gasped and unfurled, grabbing Widow's head and twisting and moaning orgasmically as she rocked her pelvis against her tongue. Finally, she settled and bid the blue woman to come up to her.

Sombra kissed her with heavy open mouth kisses as Widow placidly regarded her looking very pleased with herself.

"Heh, I'm... very sensitive, _amiga_."

" _C'est evident_ ," Widow replied nonchalantly, plopping down and placing her head next to Sombra's.

"You still have your underwear on..." Sombra noted in a piqued tone as she greedily played with Widow's bra strap.

Widow brushed off Sombra's hand. " _Oui_."

"Hey, what gives?"

"I've learned a few things about you, _ma souris,_ " Widow replied in her superior tone, "One is you like being withholding, two is you like to pleasure other people, even at your own expense, so you get a sense of power over them, three is that you enjoy encounters with less experienced or uncertain sexual partners so they're intimidated by your getting off on them. Am I right?"

Sombra shook her head to try and clear the brain fog from her orgasm. "Um..."

Widowmaker smiled cruelly. "You are... _manipulative,_ " she said, "they're the hallmarks of a sexual strategy, _cherie_. Perhaps to pass off your weaknesses as strengths?"

The hacker flushed in embarrassment at being called out and plopped her head down as if to hide. "What? I can _go again_ if you want," she said sounding defensive.

"No, no, I'm simply saying that you won't manipulate me, Sombra," said Widowmaker crawling over her spider-like, " _I see everything..._ "

Widow began to kiss Sombra's neck as she stared off somewhat resentfully. Finally, she turned her head to meet Widow's mouth and kissed her. Widow watched the tendons in Sombra's neck tense as she extended it to give her greedy kisses. She took the hacker's throat in her hand and gripped it. Widow felt another tear in Sombra's eye but paradoxically her kissing became more passionate. Widow propped herself up and took off her bra as Sombra watched her in anticipation.

The Talon girls kissed until Sombra became occupied with Widow's exquisite breasts, squeezing them in her hands and indulgently licking her small nipples so they were flush with her tongue.

After a while, however, Sombra realized that Widow was checking out. She pulled back and regarded her. Widow sighed. "Ah, I don't feel so much there..."

"It's OK, its fun for me, _amiga,_ " Sombra replied drunkenly, grabbing Widow's butt and rocking her pelvis into hers.

"Hmm," Widow replied ambiguously as she lay herself next to Sombra, "when my memory came back, I remembered you were the last person to make me feel anything..."

Sombra's eyes shifted. "Like... sexually?"

" _Oui,_ " said Widow hiding her face, "though not without its share of _disturbance_. That libido of yours... you don't really care if your partner enjoys or if they enjoy too much when they don't want to..."

The hacker's eyes wandered the ornate room. Widow noticed that she didn't seem to mind this time about being called out or care. Sombra shrugged indifferently. Her wheels were starting to spin again, it was clear she just wanted to fuck. Widow took her chin in her hand and became deadly serious.

"I could rip your arm off if I wanted to, and if I were free then like I am now, I would have. _Compris?_ "

Sombra's eyes widened fearfully. It suddenly occurred to her who she was dealing with as she met Widow's disconcerting green eyes. She was the spider who killed her last lover. What on Earth was Widowmaker's relationship to sex? How did her programming effect it? Would she kill her?

"Yes..." Sombra replied nervously. _Caught in the spider's web_ , she thought.

" _Bon_."

Widow settled and gently stroked Sombra's arm, feeling the delicate invisible hairs touch her hypersensitive fingers. Slowly, Sombra became less rigid when she was certain Widow wasn't going to dismember her in the bed. Once Sombra got a sense that Widow wanted to be touched she relaxed and began to softly stroke her back in return.

"What does it feel like?" Sombra asked, as she regarded Widow meditatively.

"You feel so warm. I can see vividly all the markers of life and health in you... I'm very jealous, _cherie,_ " Widow replied melancholically, "My nerves feel encased in ice. You're a bit like the sun during a spring thaw. Its as if the parts of me that you touch light up if I let them, like electricity going through dormant nerves giving them life and animus. I want to let it through... But sometimes its too much, it shoots and becomes overwhelming. Its a lot to suddenly feel life course through my body when I've felt so dead."

"Sounds like too little and too much sensation..." Sombra mused, turning her head to regard the ceiling, "What are you thinking? Do you feel your programming?"

Sombra turned her head towards Widow, she was eyeing her like a predator.

"Yes," she replied flatly, "I would like very much to kill you, certainly that would make me feel alive too." Widow felt Sombra tense. "But not in the same way, _cherie_. That pleasure is so wrought. I hate the rush and precipitous drop. These sensations are new, my body isn't used to being touched like this or feeling pleasure, I haven't used my senses for anything other than killing. I want to figure it out and I want to feel it long and slow... do you understand?"

Sombra humphed and cuddled herself into Widowmaker's side. "I think I get the idea," she said shifting to get comfortable, "we have your big house and all the time in the world. I'm pretty OK with trying to figure out how to get a beautiful girl to cum for a long ass time. You're in control, _araña_..."


	28. Chapter 28

The Talon girls entangled themselves in each other as they cuddled under Amelie's expensive plush covers. Sombra found the bed immensely comfortable, it trapped the warmth from her body heat and made Amelie's stone cold body more natural to the touch. She stroked Amelie's back as they lay in bed. Widow was strange to her, she was desiring but her body seemed almost completely pleasureless, it showed none of the features of being stimulated or aroused. What was she trying?

She turned to look at Widowmaker on her shoulder. Her mind marched through a slew of ways she could take her. The libidinous hacker wanted to see her explicit, to make her twist and strain and sweat.

Widow looked back at her. "I know what you're thinking," she said with a pout, "I don't want any of what you were doing with those Overwatch agents."

Sombra grinned as she thought back to Pharah and Mercy. It was hard for her to believe that had actually happened. And Pharah, she was a strange one. "Huh? Oh yeah... I wonder what they're doing now..." A brief flash of her encounter with Pharah went through her mind. Her eyes shifted to Widow as she felt a spot of arousal between her legs. "Heh, you don't know, Widowmaker, you might like it rough. There's got to be some way to get a little feeling through those nerves..."

"We shall see," Widowmaker said simply. She shifted on top of Sombra to plant soft kisses on her neck.

Sombra lifted her chin to draw her to her mouth. She kissed the blue woman greedily as she wore a little smirk. Widow could feel that Sombra wanted to fuck but she wasn’t ready, the realization almost seemed to short circuit her arousal. Her more experienced partner detected her hesitation and paused.

“What if... you asked me to order you to, like, let go?” Sombra asked.

“Oh lá, you can’t command someone to enjoy, _cherie,_ ” replied Widow with a huff.

“No, but you want to...”

“ _N’importe quoi_ ,” she said shaking her head. Sombra looked back at her cluelessly. “It's whatever.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever enjoy like Amelie again. Why not become Widowmaker?”

The blue woman smiled. “You don’t want that.”

 _Become Widowmaker_ , she thought. That meant becoming a psychopath who was excited by the sight and smell of blood, a murderer who was aroused by death, even of small animals, an utterly deranged and sad thrall that transmuted sexual frustration into a drive to follow orders to perfection. Sombra didn’t know what she was asking for.

“Hey, I’m a _very_ pervy—” she was interrupted by Widow’s cold hand on her cheek. Sombra’s eyes met Widow’s and she noticed they’d changed. It was like staring at a shark. She’d started her sentence confidently but continued it quietly. “—girl, _amiga_...”

“You want that? You’ve seen what I do.” Widow replied running her nail along Sombra’s neck. “I think you might be the one who likes it rough.”

Widow felt her shiver, she could smell her fear. The sniper felt a little spike of arousal at Sombra’s response. 

“Widow...” Sombra said quietly with a swallow, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Widowmaker played with Sombra’s hair for a moment then hmm’d. “You’ll have to tell me when to stop or I won’t.”

Sombra bit her lip apprehensively and nodded slowly.

In a flash, Widow’s hands were around Sombra’s neck as they kissed passionately. Sombra writhed under her as she lifted her arms and pushed against the headboard. Suddenly, Widow choked her harder causing Sombra to buck and extend her neck in surprise. She whimpered. Widow’s grip became gentle to allow Sombra to gasp for air.

“Fuck... fuck,” Sombra panted.

She sat up slightly with her neck resting against the headboard and drew Widow close by her hips. The hacker could see that Widow was excited. It was almost like she was watching her neurons fire through her stimulated eyes.

“Again,” Sombra said, her voice subdued yet urgent with arousal, “and take these off.” She gestured to Widow’s panties.

Sombra squirmed in front of Widow, rotating her pelvis up towards her in anticipation as waited for her to take off her panties.

“OK, now get on top,” she said grabbing Widow’s hips and moving her on top of her pelvis so their vulvas were touching.

Widow gave her her practiced smile and lifted herself up. “I said not like that, _cherie_.”

Sombra moaned in frustration. “OK, then let me do this...” 

She took her middle fingers and rubbed them between Widow’s pussy. To Widow’s surprise, she gave a little gasp and shudder from the unexpected sensation. “That’s... interesting.”

“I can keep going...”

Widow nodded and let Sombra rub her clit, letting herself fall forward and arching her back to make it easy for her. She closed her eyes to try and focus on the feeling but it was fleeting. In frustration she tried working her pelvis into it but then stopped.

She held Sombra’s hand with one hand and gently pushed her back with the other. They kissed for a moment before Widow pulled away.

“I liked watching you whimper,” said Widow seductively as she pressed her chest against Sombra.

“Heh...” Sombra muttered with a nervous smile, "it'll be hard to tell you to stop so, uh, take that as your cue..."

Widow propped herself up and guided Sombra’s hand between her legs. To Sombra’s pleasure, she was just wet enough. She curled her fingers inside Widow to search for her g-spot as the blue woman placed her hand around her throat and squeezed playfully.

“I want to make you bleed,” Widow whispered into her ear.

“Gentle, _amiga_ , I’m sore...” Sombra coaxed as Widow took her neck in her both her hands. Much to Widow's pleasure, the skin had bruised where she gripped before.

She began to close her grip on Sombra’s neck as she felt her curl her fingers inside her.

Suddenly, she was taken back years to this very room. It was night, her and Gerard were wine drunk and full of rich food, oysters and duck specifically, which were having an aphrodisiacal effect as they fooled around. She’d taken a liking to his neck, it was almost feminine to her despite his smart tuxedo collar and bow-tie. She’d been finding an excuse to put her hand around and near it all night to whisper in his ear during their fundraiser dinner and after-party; he would peel her off, telling her affectionately to wait until tonight.

Amelie was feeling a little more dominant that evening, wanting to be on top rather than taking him from behind. Gerard was perhaps superficial that way, he loved to appreciate his wife’s exquisite butt as they made love. Amelie thought it was animalistic and preferred to make love face to face, though she occasionally liked to be admired for her dancer’s body as he ravaged her _a tergo_. She’d barely let him get out of his tuxedo pants before she forced herself on him with a devious smile. Amelie gave a relaxed sigh as succumbed to the familiar feeling of her husband penetrating her. Slowly, she finished unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his bow tie as he held her hips, flinging his ridiculous masculine apparel to the corner to reveal his lovely neck.

She began to rock as her hands crawled around his windpipe. He cleared his throat in mild discomfort as she squeezed. Amelie began to get lost in herself as she concentrated on her pleasure, lolling her head to the side and closing her eyes while she rode. She could feel her husband getting harder and harder inside her, a detail which made her assume he was enjoying it. After a minute she was riding at full force as she approached orgasm. She felt his hands crawling up her arms as she strengthened her grip to the intensity and rhythm of her pleasure. Amelie grinned when he let his hands drop in submission. No, she was in control tonight. The thought brought her to the edge.

“Ah! Gerard!” she cried as she climaxed. Letting go and masturbating herself as she rode out her orgasm.

She clutched her hair and looked down. Her husband lay dead, bug eyed with a blue tongue hanging out of his limp jaw.

To her surprise, once her brain registered he was dead, a second wave of pleasure hit her causing her to undulate and clutch her own neck and breasts in a spasmodic movement. It was her programming, she’d completed her mission. She began to whimper and weep in confusion at the conflicting pleasures as she sat naked, still mounted on her late husband in the large bedroom. His cum leaked out of her, she hadn’t even noticed he’d finished in the action. Waves of guilt and sadness followed as the windows filled with light from a surveilling Talon dropship.

She'd known all along what she'd been doing. It occurred to her that she'd tricked herself into thinking it was just a sexual game, but she'd intended to kill him all along, the day since she'd gotten back. It was hardcoded into her brain stem. She'd duped herself into thinking she was free and that this was just another night...

Widowmaker came to looking not at her husband’s dead body but a beautiful brown skinned woman, Sombra, alive, looking confident and cocky with a little grin.

“Lost you for a moment there,” she said with a cough, “your eyes, I’ve never seen anyone look like that during an orgasm.”

“I... what? It was so little...”

“Meh, it was something,” Sombra noted, regarding her fingers. She pinched Widow’s fluids between her fingertips then stuck them in her mouth. “Oh yeah, and I’d appreciate you, like, stay in the moment, _chica_. I’m not Gerard.”

Widowmaker’s head felt almost uncomfortably full with pleasure chemicals though she did feel slightly more relaxed. It was all ambiguous, as if she hadn’t even been there.

“Hey,” asked Sombra softly, “are you OK?”

“I would appreciate kindly not to be brought back to the worst moment of my life during sex, Sombra.”

Widow crashed her body next to Sombra’s with a moody pout and curled up. Sombra crawled on top of her and lifted her chin to kiss her.

“You,” said Sombra in a sultry tone, “are _very_ dangerous to have sex with. I’m seeing stars...”

“ _Oui,_ ” she murmured with a stroke of intrigue.

They kissed.


	29. Chapter 29

At the entrance of the imposing house, the strippers, Exene and Rosco prepared to take their leave not wanting to overstay their ambiguous welcome. Of course, not before indulging in a few selfies, posing themselves next to Amelie’s _ancien regime_ era oil paintings with their Talon weapons and casks of her ungodly expensive wine. They were, however, apprehensive about leaving with their youngest colleague, who seemed to have disappeared inside the massive house. The former Overwatch agents, meanwhile, milled about in the cold on the stone bridge leading to the lonely mansion’s island as they waited for their Orca pick up. Reinhardt was still somewhere inside.

“Who saw where he went?” Jack grumbled.

“He followed a girl inside,” Ana noted with a tinge of disapproval.

“What?!” Jack exclaimed. His tac visor almost jumped off his face with envy.

Ana rolled her eyes.

“The idiot’s thinking with his hammer again!” Torbjorn griped, “someone go in and get him out!”

“We could wait inside like sensible people,” Mercy noted. She’d reluctantly taken to wearing her ex-husband’s leather jacket for warmth. “Amelie _did_ offer that to us.”

Jack folded his arms. “Well, I don’t trust it...”

Tracer danced in place and shivered, periodically casting jealous glances at the master bedroom. Pharah held her shoulders and rubbed them down for warmth.

“I’m dressed like a bloody stripper, Jack!” she griped, “swallow your pride, ya balmy git!”

“Alright, I get it! Pile in!”

Jack regarded the entrance of the mysterious mansion with stern eyes before lowering his head and hustling in. This was neutral territory but it was almost like there was too much fantasy and desire at stake inside. He wanted to leave before Widowmaker lost her hospitality...

* * *

Widow felt Sombra subtly gyrating her pelvis against her butt. She’d surreptitiously made herself heavy on Widow as they rested, periodically pushing her pubic bone against her. Now she had the distinct sense Sombra was taking advantage of her. Widow rested her cheek on her forearms to passively let the libidinous hacker have her pleasure. This was, in some sense, Widow’s nightmare since she was letting herself be enjoyed while she was so anhedonic. For some reason, however, she could hardly mind.

Sombra lifted herself up and tilted her pelvis forward to rub her erect clit in the curvature of Widowmaker’s booty crack, grinning reflexively as she pressed herself into Widow's body. She brushed aside Widow's hair covering her ear and leaned in to speak to her. “Unng, Widow, your butt... I’ve had a crush on it for so long, _culona_ ,” she whispered.

"Mmhmm..." Widow replied nonchalantly as she rubbed her cheek against her forearm.

Widow felt Sombra shudder, taking aroused breaths as she gently humped her from behind. A warm wet sensation struck her back, causing Widow to shift. It was Sombra running her long tongue along the contours of her back and shoulders following the edges of her geometric spider tattoo.

"Come on, Widow, let me fuck you..."

“ _Peut être_ ,” Widowmaker replied in a bored tone.

Sombra was given pause. “What is it?” she asked.

Widowmaker turned herself towards Sombra. Sombra was clearly turned on, Widow could sense it from the way she seemed to comport herself like her pelvis was leading her. There was an almost phallic quality to Sombra’s sex, or maybe Amelie was just projecting off of the sense of sexual aggression she was getting from her. Again Widow felt a little intimidated by Sombra's sexuality. The savvy hacker read her expression.

“You’re one of those lipstick lesbians who won’t let me get sweaty on you...” she lamented, “or do you still hate me?”

Widow blinked at her as Sombra knelt to hide herself. The hacker ran her fingers through her pink mohawk. Widow pondered her for a moment as she regarded her body to try and regain a sense of power. 

“That works for you? Just pressing like that?” Widow asked naively.

Sombra let her neck hang then lifted it with a self-conscious smile.

“Yeah...” she replied, “I got my clit pierced illegally when I turned 15. I fucked the _cholo_ who did it to try it out and came like 7 times. I was like ‘wow,’ I thought I hated sex before...”

“ _Mon dieu_ , Sombra,” Widow replied with an eye roll.

“What? He was clean. Ever since, I felt like I could fuck anything. It’s like having a dick. You should try it, Widow.”

Widowmaker’s eyes shifted and went devious. Sombra was trash, it really was seductive somehow. She reached up and grabbed Sombra’s arms to pull her on top of her. As she came close, Widow lifted her arms above her head to kiss her.

“I dunno, you might enjoy it...” Sombra teased between her kisses.

Soon, Sombra became impassioned and began to gyrate her hips into Widow’s pelvis. As she became heated she kissed Widow’s neck and nuzzled her nose into her ear. “Come on, let me fuck you,” she whispered softly.

Sombra pulled away to regard Widow’s response. She watched the gears turn in her head as she considered her proposal. The blue French woman shrugged her shoulders indifferently. She may as well try it.

“ _D’accord_.”

"Heh..."

The hacker grinned and sunk herself into Widow’s body, pressing her pelvis and pubic bone against hers as she held her hips. Soon she was exhaling short stimulated breaths as she ground her clit into Widow’s with a steady a rocking motion. Widow observed her intently as she worked. The sensation was a little alien since Widow's sex still felt anesthetized but watching Sombra strain against her was stimulating somehow. She could feel her desire, even if it was superficial...

Widow instinctively took hold of Sombra’s back. As she continued to watch Sombra becoming more and more heated, she felt something drop in her chest. 

“Oh... _précieux_...” Widow murmured as she held her close.

Sombra shook her head with a little laugh at the remark between her thrusts. On each push, Widow held Sombra more tightly into her, increasing her grip with her augmented strength. Suddenly, Sombra closed her eyes and grit her teeth, taking a tremulous breath as she strained and ground her pelvis into her. She was cumming. Widow craned her neck back as she felt her partner shudder and release then took Sombra’s face in her hands to kiss her passionately.

Sombra could see Widow’s face and chest were blushing.

“Please, Sombra...” Widow begged amorously.

She lowered herself between Widow’s legs in front of her meticulously shaved patch of pubic hair and began to lick. Sombra noticed a little red hue around her outer lips and became convinced this might work.

Sombra’s articulate tongue found Widow's clit causing her to give a little moan. She worked her slowly, careful not to overstimulate her.

“Like that...” Widow sighed, “yes...”

After a minute, Sombra felt Widow strain and push herself down so she was lying flat on her back spread eagle. She hadn’t made a breath or a sound while she worked but when Sombra looked up she could see her nipples had gone erect and puffy, the veins on her arms and neck were subtly pulsing, blood was blowing from her heart to her extremities. It really was working.

“Yes... Yes...” she murmured as she twisted her head to the side.

She gazed down her obliques at Sombra pleasuring her in disbelief she was feeling this way or anything at all. Their gazes met briefly. Sombra could see Widow's strange golden eyes blanking from pleasure. The signs were good. She watched Widow bite her lip and decided to increase the pressure, licking with the full surface of her tongue. Inside Widow's head was mental chaos. Her brain was alight with stimulation as its pleasure centers reactivated. It wasn’t that she felt so much through her organs, it was rather the thought of Sombra getting off on her. Widow had tried so many times in vain to masturbate and her anhedonia made her almost repulsed by sex. But watching Sombra take enjoyment with her gave her an almost transcendent pleasure, all this time she’d been thinking too much about her own lost enjoyment, and where before she was intimidated and jealous of how orgasmic Sombra was, now she could relax and let herself be enjoyed.

A sense of bewilderment hit her: she'd experimented with girls, probably some of the most beautiful girls in the world, at the Paris Opera Ballet School but it was so tentative, it was just fooling around. With Sombra it was more like she was really fucking or, rather, being fucked.

Widow bucked and held Sombra’s head somewhat rudely, lost in the moment as her pelvis began to quiver minutely. Sombra watched Widow's ribs rise and fall from her aroused breathing. She was at the precipice...

“Yes... yes, yes, ah!”

Widow jerked and her quivering suddenly became passionate undulating as she let out a series of orgasmic gasps. Wide-eyed, her chest heaved as she ground down against Sombra's tongue. Finally, she let herself be still as the overwhelming sensation passed.

She lay still for a second.

It was odd, Widow felt younger. It was like her programming had held her body locked in a vice. Now the world felt open and she was thrown into an oddly forgiving mood, as if she was on some kind of marvelous drug. The air between her and Sombra felt electric.

Suddenly, Widow frantically sat herself up to grab Sombra and kiss her. Their arms clashed briefly, then Widow grabbed her neck and brought her close. Sombra fell forward, surreptitiously removing Widow’s hand from her neck as Widow rocked back and let her topple onto her.

They hugged and kissed sweatily while Widow lightly humped against her, riding out some of the lingering sensation of her orgasm.

“Hey, I’m pretty good, right?” Sombra asked when she calmed, “bet you didn’t know a girl could fuck like that?”

“You’re a brat, Sombra,” Widow laughed, “it wasn’t horrible.”

They entwined their hands together as they spoke face-to-face. Sombra noticed Widow’s otherwise eerily small pupils had gone wide. Even though she was already rapidly losing it, she had a little glow. For once, she seemed happy. 

“It looked like a weird one, _araña_.”

“ _Oui, c’est vrai_ ,” she replied timidly with a little side nod.

“Second time is usually better... Hey, wanna see something?” Sombra sat up and revealed her back to her. “I got all these sexy new bruises...”

Widow gasped and rubbed the dark spots on her neck and back.

“That was me?”

Sombra looked over her shoulder and gave her an incredulous look, trying to figure out if she was being coy. “Um, yeah!”

“Well, I’m not sorry...”

She turned with a smirk and let herself back into Widow’s arms. Though she was tired, Sombra was given a second wind. Her ego soared at the prospect that she’d gotten the sadistic girl off, that she’d seen her so explicit, and witnessed first hand that she wasn’t so frigid after all. Widow was a rare and dangerous animal. Quite a conquest. She turned her head towards her.

“So, does this mean I get to be gay with you at Talon?”

“No, _cherie,_ ” Widow replied with her cruel smile as she ran her finger along Sombra’s lips, “this is a one time affair. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of you and Gabriel.”

“That... is not a thing...” Sombra replied with shifty eyes.

“Hush,” Widow commanded. Sombra gave a flat smile at her partner’s sudden distance. “I imagine we’ll still be cruel to each other. After all, who are we?”

Sombra sighed and looked at the ceiling. It was frustrating but true.

“I also imagine, however, that I’ll invite you back, no matter how we get,” Widow admitted, taking Sombra’s hand. They lay peacefully for a moment, gazing at each other. Widow knew that Sombra had a wandering desire, but she also seemed to have no reservations about acting like a lover. She truly could be with anyone, friend or foe. Or maybe she was just drinking in her conquest...

Widow turned towards the ceiling as the gears turned in her head. To Sombra’s surprise, she turned back to her with sudden urgency and took her hand. “Sombra, I’m going to ask something very important of you..."

“Aw, what?” Sombra replied in frustration. She shook her head, wondering if this whole encounter was an elaborate plan to manipulate her. "Widoww!" she whined.

“I don’t know what made me forget, but I’ll need you to find a way to put me back the way I am now if they ever reprogram me or I lose myself again. I mean it, Sombra. You have your way with computers. When we return to Talon, you’ll hack Moira’s laboratory and find her methods.”

“I can’t believe this!”

Widow sneered at her. “Unless you prefer me as a slave. I know you liked that, _cherie_.” Widow humphed in disdain at Sombra's hesitant silence. “Then do it. If they get to me, I’ll want to know. And don’t think I can’t find out if _you're_ the one to do it.”

Suddenly, Sombra became aware Widow was squeezing her hand almost to the point of unbearable pain. She'd been too taken aback to notice.

“Widow... my hand.” She let go and broke her death stare on Sombra. The hacker sighed. “Of course I’ll do it...”

“ _Tres bien, ma souris_. We’ll look out for each other, _n’est pas_? I know how you handle your favors.”

“Rubbing it in a little deep, _chica_...”

Widow blew air through her lips with a little sideways Gallic shrug. Her way of showing she had Sombra by the balls.

Sombra sighed. “Ugh... _no hay bronca,_ I guess _..._ ”

* * *

Widow awoke to a crash. Though, in truth, she was hardly disturbed since she’d hardly been sleeping. She’d been transfixed in a meditative state as Sombra lay resting on her arm. She knew from their missions that the troubled hacker always slept fitfully in a combination of hyper and hyposomnia. Her sleep shifted from light, easily interrupted and unrestful to excessively deep, interminable and plagued by exhausting dreams. Now, however, she was sleeping heavily.

She arose from bed, leaving the position she’d been laying in for hours motionless, barely detectable. Sombra stirred and muttered incoherently as Widow arose.

The blue dancer clothed herself in an elegant silk robe and silently stepped to her door.

Outside, an absurd scene was unfolding. Reinhardt stood next to a broken French column and shattered vase wearing only bed-sheets wrapped around his torso as cover. The sheet had slipped under the decorative column and gotten stuck. The old fool tugged it and the piece toppled over destroying a priceless vase. Next to him stood Daisy repeatedly hitting him against the part of his arm she could reach wearing only her bra. They turned in fear and surprise towards the sound of Widowmaker’s disgusted sigh.

"Amelie! It was an accident, m’lady. I’ll do everything in my power to replace or repair it," Reinhardt stammered, "I'll, uh, get Torbjorn to fix it."

"Like hell and ass, I will!" the diminutive dwarf-man called from the end of the hallway, "get your ass moving lest ye want teh know how much boot Morrison'll be fillin' it with!" Daisy quickly reached for the sheet to cover herself as Torbjorn approached. "He's over here!" he bellowed obnoxiously to the rest of his team.

The young mistress of the house ignored him and blew past the strange bedfellows to inspect the damage. Reinhardt’s eyes tracked her nervously. He was perhaps as embarrassed about the vase as he was of his significantly younger partner.

"I recommended to you Overwatch agents that you go back to where you came from..." Widow noted, layering on the patience.

"Yeah, but you also said they could stay!" Daisy retorted in a complainant tone.

Widow scoffed at the indecent dancer but then appeared all to tired to deal with it. It was the thought of the old man making it with a shaven pigtailed girl almost 40 years his younger. It was something about the image of the former crusader’s grey hair and old muscle working into a girl who commodified her excessively youthful appearance, it defied her sensibilities.

She cleared her throat before speaking in a cool albeit disdainful tone. "Reinhardt... while I have little concern for the affairs of my enemies....” she said regarding Daisy with a pout. She raised her cool eyes to the giant blushing half-naked German. "You should return home. I won’t remove you, but you must see you are a nuisance to me here."

The musclebound German began to hysterically cling to his notions of chivalry and honor to distract from the absurd scene: "By the arrangement of our ceasefire, I am bound to repair it!” he said clutching the sheets and attempting to pick up the shattered pieces with his free hand.

In a flash, the sheet fell off as Sombra stepped out, yawning and rubbing her mohawk, opening her bleary eyes just in time to see Reinhardt’s unfortunate chode.

“What the hell is that?!” she exclaimed then covered her eyes with her palm. Reinhardt scrambled to cover himself, however, it had the unfortunate effect of uncovering Daisy. She wrenched the sheet back as Sombra talked. " _Guau che,_ it has the proportions of a freaking softball. I would have been fine not seeing weird old dude dick. I’m going back to bed... damn...”

"Reinhardt, luv! What happened to your leg?" called Tracer from down the hall. She was suddenly taken aback as she approached. "Oh dear lord..." she wretched.

Ana followed shortly behind. "Reinhard, dear?" Her tone immediately turned cold and terse when she saw that she was not the exclusive recipient of Reinhardt's chivalry. "Hadn't you better get going?"

"Why, m'lady. Of course..."

"Hey, what, I don't exist?" Daisy exclaimed, "I'm rich now!"

Slowly, she became aware of the dynamic between Ana and Reinhardt and felt herself fume.

Down the hall, Pharah and Mercy covered their mouths in a halfhearted attempt to contain their gossiping laughter at the indecent German. Widowmaker rolled her eyes and returned to her bed to let the situation work itself out. Further down, in the sense of downstairs, Overwatch's former strike commander stood awkwardly in front of the gaggle of armed strippers periodically switching between heroic poses to try and show off his stature so that one of them might notice and strike up conversation. They didn't.

"So, uh, no hard feelings, right?" he offered.

The strippers exchanged glances.

"We don't really know you, hon," Scarlet noted, "but seeing as how one of your lovely Overwatch agents was responsible for bringing us back to life. I'd say we're pretty even."

"Ah, yeah, that would be my ex-wife, she's an angel, alright... not too shabby."

There was an awkward silence.

"So, I thought Overwatch was dead or whatever," asked Skye with a distrustful head tilt.

"Heh, guess the cat's out of the bag..." said Jack with a forced chuckle. The strippers guessed he was hoping to sound a little coy or mysterious but he just seemed awkward. They again exchanged glances. Jack gathered himself as his team returned from upstairs with Reinhardt to pose an important question. "Anyways, we got a dropship chartered. I was wondering if you ladies-"

"And sirses," added Rosco, raising his finger to grab Jack's attention.

"And that guy, wanted a ride. We can go wherever, but, uh, just not Amsterdam."

Daisy hustled over to Jack's side and took his arm possessively in hers.

"We'll take it," she answered for them as she glared at Rienhardt, "isn't that right, daddy?"

Dr. Zeigler approached Jack. Discernibly, the look of disapproval had now switched from Ana to Mercy's face as she regarded the upstart stripper on her ex-husband's arm. "Jack, hadn't we better discuss something with them?" She turned to the strippers with a look of cool composure. "I was meaning to say, ladies—" Rosco perked up his finger with an expectant raise of his chin, "and Rosco, that while we've all mostly recovered, the fact remains we were exposed to a powerful Talon chemical agent. It would be wise of you to let us perform a brief check up of your health at our facility."

"Um, Mercy, are you a doctor, luv?" asked Scarlet.

"Why, I'm Director-General of the World Health Organization. I'm still a practicing surgeon so I'm quite qualified..."

The strippers blinked at her as if awestruck.

" _Nefoedd!_ And you can raise the dead, must really help if you ever screw up and misplace an organ," prodded Scarlet, trying to hide being visibly impressed, "I guess we're coming with you..." Suddenly, she raised her plasma rifle. "But no funny business!"

"Of course, despite what your former colleague may have told you, we _are_ the good guys," Mercy explained diplomatically.

"Right, _good guys_ ," Scarlet muttered although, quickly, her voice lost its skeptical tone, "Are you covered by the NHS? What other talents do you lot have?"

In passing, Mercy suddenly cupped Jack's ear and whispered so no one else could hear. "These women weren't imprinted by Moira, understanding the differences between an imprinted and unimprinted brain affected by her drugs could be the key to helping Winston undo whatever damage was done to Pharah and Tracer. So don't screw this up. Got it?"

Jack recognized the terseness in her voice. She was displeased. Mercy pulled away and continued about her business. As he heard the thrusters of an approaching Orca dropship, he looked down at the young blonde Danish stripper on his arm and she returned to him vicious yet infatuated eyes—the look of a nihilistic and easily-bored young person. Slowly, he remembered that the stripping profession attracted every type of crazy and felt a little less jealous of Rienhardt.

What had he just gotten into?

"Heh..." Jack muttered.

Suddenly, the old soldier felt eyes on him. He looked up to catch Pharah regarding him with a fiery look and it gave him a rare case of the fear. Just how potent was that Talon programming? Was she in some sort of sleeper mode or had Moira failed and Pharah's discipline at least partially prevailed. A chill went down his spine as he recalled Widowmaker's discourse on finding freedom in her slavery to killing and following orders. How much of Widowmaker's programming had made it into her head? Resent towards her mother activated her last time, would her possessiveness of Angela activate it this time? The strippers would be dangerous to keep around with all of Overwatch's relationship baggage. Dating colleague's, of course, was strictly prohibited in his time.

Then there was Tracer. Better to just make sure the strippers were OK and not cause too much trouble...

"Hey, there, um-"

"Daisy."

"Daisy, lets, uh, make like a tree and get out of here."

"Was that a dad joke?" she replied cattily, "I love dad jokes..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a fuck ton of loose ends and a lot I want to do to give more closure but this story's gone on for too long. Also, Rein took quite a beating so I wanted him to have some sort of "happy ending." Anyways, I might give this ending the hatchet and do some proper editing to give this stupid story a more natural ending but I've got other projects I want to work on. Anyways, hope ya'll had fun.


End file.
